


The Prince King

by ziamhaze



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Fluff, Kid Fic, M/M, Mentions of Death, Single Dad Zayn, artist!zayn, besides that, but he’s also just an all around handyman, carpenter!liam, lots of, or mother figure, so trigger warning if you’ve lost a mother
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-09-28 01:34:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 69,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20417693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ziamhaze/pseuds/ziamhaze
Summary: At twenty, Zayn finds himself a widower and single father of one. It takes everything in his power to raise the three month old alone while also keeping up with his budding career as an artist. Five years later and Zayn’s more dedicated than ever to do whatever it takes for the little boy to have a better life than the one he had at his age. When that includes hiring a professional carpenter to build him a treehouse, Zayn finds himself having to figure out how to win the man’s game of cat and mouse before the structure’s complete, or risk missing out on someone who makes him want to spend the rest of his life mixing oil paints together in order to find the exact shade of warmth that the contractor exudes.





	The Prince King

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, thank you to everyone who read Kick, Push. The feedback as been incredible and I’m so grateful for all the readers that have stumbled across the little fic that I absolutely adore.
> 
> This fic originated from [THIS ](https://ziamhaze.tumblr.com/post/184266635191/paynefulperiods-ziamhaze-ziamhaze) au created by myself and my beta reader Megan. “Turns into a 50k ziam kidfic”. Looks at the 70k word count and sighs. I know I tend to write much longer fics than people normally read, so thank you for clicking and giving this a chance!
> 
> I had so much fun exploring the construction world with this fic and understanding the psychology of a child to bring this story to life in an accurate way; if you’ve read enough, you know how some can fall victim to writing a kid either overly childish in comparison to their stated age or filled with dialogue that would be way above their heads, so I hope I found the sweet spot with Amir at age 5.
> 
> As usual, here’s a catalogue of my disclaimers:
> 
> \- British terminology: ok so my other stories haven’t _really_ taken place in England, so this one might be filled with quite a few references you might not be privy to if you don’t know British culture/slang. I was lucky enough to live in London for a couple years and travel the country a bit so that’s where I get a lot of my Brit knowledge, but I did consult a friend (thank you Oliver) on a few things I wanted to double check. For now the biggest things are B&Q = Brit version of America’s “Home Depot”, ASDA = British Walmart, a lorry = word for a transport truck (think big rig truck)  
\- In terms of Liam’s construction, I did a bit of research for his references/dialogue (yes, construction podcasts are an actual thing), but the bulk went into dissecting a real treehouse construction video to see what he could finish realistically every weekend/how many days it would take. The link for that is [HERE ](http:www.ziamhaze.tumblr.com/treehousefic), but I’ll also link it in the end notes in case you want to be surprised on what the treehouse looks like  
\- And while builder Liam is an original concept, artist Zayn is the canon that we all know and love! However, for the art he does in this fic, I used Liran Vardiel’s work as inspiration. Zmsickmarvel made a manip that I used in the picspam that you can see it [HERE](https://ziamhaze.tumblr.com/post/187423489356/ziam-ficrec-the-prince-king-by-ziamhaze-or-a) to get an idea of how Zayn paints before you start reading, but there will be links to the actual work Zayn does at the end bc spoilers  
Enjoy!

**Post a New Ad**

Click. 

**Tell Us What You Are Posting**

_I want a service…_

**Or Browse to Find A Category**

Click. 

**Motors | For Sale | Property | Jobs | Services**

Click. Scroll, scroll, scroll. 

**Tradesmen & Construction**

Click. 

_Oh brother…_

Scroll, scroll, scroll. 

**Bricklayers | Builders | Carpentry & Joiners**

_There’s a difference between Builders and Carpenters?_

New Tab. Google: Builders versus carpenters 

**As nouns, the difference between a builder and a constructor is that builder is a person who builds or constructs things while a constructor is a person, or thing, that constructs.**

_You’ve gotta be kidding me._

**Builders**

Click. 

_Technically they’ll be building things._

**Your Location**

England → South Yorkshire → Sheffield 

**Ad Title**

Looking for Treehouse Designer & Constructor 

**Description**

Just gifted my five year old a treehouse, but he was very confused when he looked outside and saw the same old backyard with no present in sight. 

I’m an artist, so I can hold a paintbrush, but I have no idea how to hold a drill. 

_No, that gives them the upper hand to charge me more since they know I’m helpless._

Backspace. 

I’m looking for someone to help design AND build the treehouse. Please do not email if you are only a designer or carpenter. I’d like to work with just one team. 

My son is off school for the next two weeks and I work from home, so ideally we can start asap. 

When you email, please include pictures of your past work (doesn’t have to be treehouse work, just prove that you know how to build large structures) and also a possible quote based on the pictures I’ve attached showing the trees to be used. Price isn’t my first priority, but also please be realistic with what you come up with. 

If the ad is up, the job is still available. 

**Add Images (Up to 9)**

Click. Click. Click. 

**Post My Ad**

Click. 

Sitting back in his chair, Zayn stares at the GumTree ad that’s now live. His eyes scan the words to make sure that he’s included everything that’s necessary and that there aren’t any typos. 

Satisfied with what he’s written, Zayn lets his hands drop down from the laptop keyboard now that there was no need to rush and edit anything before people read the post. As if anyone would click on it that quickly to begin with. 

At the same time as his shoulders relax, the twenty six year old lets out a deep breath that he didn’t know he was holding in. Although he shouldn't be surprised, he knew that the advert staring back at him would illicit mixed feelings the second he wrote up the treehouse IOU note the day before. 

Zayn rests his elbows on the marble breakfast bar and latches his hands behind his head that’s now bowed downwards. 

_I shouldn’t be doing this alone. You should be here next to me. I should be making you laugh about how I **can** hold a drill if I tried. How I’d take the whole summer to put together the treehouse just to make you proud and give our kids something we always wanted them to have, even though neither one of us would trust the final thing to hold a squirrel, much less our first born. I’m sorry I couldn’t do that for you. I’m so sorry._

“Baba!” 

Immediately Zayn’s snapped out of his thoughts when he hears his son’s voice break the house’s silence. His head picks itself up to watch the little boy press himself against one of the accordion glass doors that led to the backyard. Zayn sighs at how he’s going to have to wash the glass to get rid of Amir’s fingerprints, but he can’t help but smile when he sees the funny face the kid’s pulling to get his Dad to laugh. 

_Ever the extrovert. Just like your Mother._

Letting up when a man around Zayn’s age comes up beside him to pull on the door, Amir zooms into the open concept kitchen/dining room area once there’s enough space for his skinny frame to squeeze through. 

“Did you see the goal I made?” He asks excitedly before making his way to the fridge and using his might to yank open the right side door. 

“I didn’t, I’m sorry.” Getting up from off the high stool he was sitting on, Zayn walks over to the cabinet that held the cups and pulls down a plastic tumbler. “I was busy trying to find someone to come build your treehouse. You’ll have to do it again for me later, yeah?” Zayn takes the carton of lactose-free milk from the boy. “Your Uncle Louis’ getting old, so I’m sure it won’t be too hard for you to score another goal past him.” 

“Yeah Amir, your Dad’s right. I’m getting old, but even so, he still can’t kick a ball past me. You should be proud of yourself.” Louis gives Zayn a sarcastic smile when the male turns to glare at him from where he’s finishing pouring Amir his glass of milk. 

There’s a part of Zayn that wants to argue how the claim isn’t fair; Louis’ a secondary school football coach that was just shy of making it pro when he was younger, so talking down Zayn’s skills on the pitch can’t be taken too seriously when it’s coming from him. Still, Louis’ words aren’t all that far fetched - Zayn’s got rubbish hand eye coordination when it comes to anything other than putting paint on a canvas. 

“He never scores on me either,” Amir comments when he takes a seat at the table with his cup, Louis’ head tilting back with his laughter. 

“Ok, we get it. I’m not good at physical activity.” Joining the two at the table, Zayn slides over a water bottle to Louis as he addresses his son. “Thankfully you didn’t get stuck with that gene of mine.” 

Watching Amir down his drink, Zayn thinks about how he got stuck with just about every other one; at least in terms of physical attributes. 

The boy’s got Zayn’s black hair, though it looks a lot cooler with a normal short style than the bowl cut Zayn had at his age. He’s still too young to tell if he’ll grow into the high cheek bones that his Father has, or if he’ll be able to gain weight easier than Zayn. Perhaps the latter will show itself once Amir gives his metabolism the chance to either level out or equal Zayn’s rapid one by calming down some and not zipping around as much as he currently does during the day. The two male’s even share the same light brown eyes right down to the outlying freckle; though Amir’s can be found on his left iris, rather than the right where Zayn’s is located. Once the little boy was old enough for the spot to be identified, doctors told Zayn that the mirrored reflection between Father and child was a one in a million occurrence. Many photos followed soon after - any pediatrician Amir saw wanting to document the unique case since they most likely wouldn’t come across anything like it again in their career. 

Another round of bitter sweetness envelopes Zayn when he thinks about how the boy’s Mother would love to see how their son was turning out to be a carbon copy of his Dad. She wouldn’t be jealous that Amir didn’t show any of her remarkable features either, but rather patient, since the boy wouldn’t be their last child; maybe all they needed was a girl to come along for Ava’s looks to be passed down. Even if all they ended up having was a group of boys, Zayn knows that the woman would’ve been more than happy. 

“So, you put up the ad?” 

For the second time in the past few minutes, Zayn’s brought out of his own head, this time by Louis. “Yeah,” he replies cooly. “Now we wait and see who gets back to me.” 

“GumTree, right?” Zayn nods to his friend’s question. “You’ll be lucky if you don’t get a serial killer.” 

“What’s a-“ 

“A bad guy,” Zayn cuts Amir off, sending Louis another disapproving look at giving his son a lead on another term to add to his growing vocabulary. “And you don’t think I know that’s a possibility?” He admits, annoyed. “But where else am I supposed to post it?” Picking out a napkin from the holder in the middle of the table, Zayn slides the paper over to Amir so he can wipe off the milk mustache he’s now sporting. “If I get creeps, then I’ll just have to call one of those professional companies that do the over the top kind and tell them to take it down a notch.” 

After taking a long drink from his water, Louis tilts his bottle towards Zayn. “You know Harry and I will have to come over when you have them visit for the first time. Safety and all that.” 

If he was going to have people who were capable of building a treehouse from scratch come over, Zayn doubts that the stout man in front of him and his gangly 183 cm tall husband could do all that much damage. He’d probably be better off on his own with his background in boxing, but Zayn’s grateful for the concern regardless, so he accepts it to pacify the lad. “I’ll let you know when they’re due to come.” 

“Whoever it is, they’re most likely going to be in shape,” Louis points out with a hint of a smirk. “You can make a temporary studio here,” the man motions to the dining table their sat around. “Face the backyard and enjoy the view just as much as Amir.” 

Instead of getting angry at the insinuation Louis’ making, Zayn gets up to make himself a cup of tea. 

He’s more than used to all his friends pushing him to get out and date, but over the past year, Louis’ taken the cake as the one to pester him the most about broadening his horizons past flirting with the barista at the coffee shop he likes to work from sometimes. In Zayn’s eyes, there wasn’t anything wrong with giving the girl a crooked smile every once and a while to score a free latte, but according to Louis their cafe relationship didn’t count as anything other than that and therefore rendered Zayn incapable of handling his own dating life. Little did his friend know that Zayn had been on a few dates over the past couple years, and was currently working on romancing someone at his art club on Monday’s once he realized that he was ready to seriously start seeing people again. He simply hadn’t mentioned it to the man because of Louis’ tendency to make a lot out of a little. As soon as he felt comfortable enough and needed to ask for a night time babysitter, he’d let his mate in on his semi-active love life, but based on his unsettling reaction to simply _starting_ the process of building the treehouse, Zayn doesn’t think that’ll be any time soon. 

“We’ll see,” he responds, leaned up against the countertop. “Could turn out to be one of those overweight blokes who don’t know belts exist too. In that case, my studio’s staying right where it is in the front room.” 

Louis chuckles at the thought, “Either way, you’re gonna have to deal with them for a while, so stock up on ear plugs.” 

When the click of the kettle’s set button sounds, Zayn turns back to the machine. _Fingers crossed I don’t regret this._

⚒⚒⚒⚒⚒ 

“Check this out.” 

In the back room of a B&Q hardware store, sitting in front of a break table, a twenty five year old man hands over his mobile to the brunette across from him. 

The male sets down his own phone and examines the ad that’s illuminated on his coworkers’. “Looks like it could bring in a hell of a lot,” he says with a distinct Irish accent. 

“How much do you reckon?” Taking a bite out of his homemade sandwich, the first man waits to see if the estimate he’s come up with is anywhere near what his friend will guess. 

“Hard to tell without knowing the measurements,” the Irishman remarks. “Or what they want. But with these pictures?” He takes his time picking apart the photos. “Let's talk conservatively and say 18k for all the materials, but with our store discount you’d even end up making money there since you could charge them full price. Plus a 20% labour fee.” Handing back the phone, the man shrugs, “Quote him £22,000 and you’re looking at a profit of a little more than seven and a half grand. God knows you’re quick too, so that much for maybe around six, seven weekends? A gold mine.” 

“I was thinking around the same,” the other male agrees, taking back his phone and looking over the backyard pictures once more. “Would be willing to go for only six just so I can make sure I win the job.” 

“Still not a bad take home for fulfilling internet listings as your side hustle. When was it posted?” 

“Only an hour ago. You know I’ve got notifications on for the construction category so I saw it straight away, but I couldn’t look at it properly until now.” Returning to his sandwich, the man’s brain already starts to come up with design ideas. “If I get it, do you think you could help me lay the foundation? I can do the rest, but it’s always easier with two people to put up the main beams and supports.” 

“Of course,” the Irishman states with a nod. “Buy me a couple pints afterwards and we’ll call it even.” He points to the rest of his friend’s lunch splayed out on the table, “You better hurry up and eat that. We’ve only got like five minutes left before it’s back to the floor.” 

Shoving the last of his sandwich into his mouth, the male moves on to his granola bar quickly, but not before taking the wood pencil out from behind his ear and sketching a couple design ideas on the back of an orange tinted paper that’s been left behind by whoever was last in the break room. 

🌳🌳🌳🌳🌳 

“Baba, when’s the treehouse person coming?” 

Zayn’s just bookmarked where they’ve ended their nightly reading, when Amir asks his question. “I’m not sure yet beta. I only put up the ad this morning. Hopefully by the end of the week.” After setting the book on the boy’s nightstand, Zayn starts to tuck him in tighter than he already was. “It’s going to take a long time to build though, so even if they come soon, it won’t be finished for a while.” 

“That’s ok,” Amir yawns. “As long as I can have it before my birthday.” 

A small laugh falls from Zayn’s lips, “your birthday’s not until August. It’s April 1st.” 

“I know, but if I don’t finish this gift before my birthday, then maybe Mummy won’t get me a present like she usually does because I didn’t finish this one first,” the little boy explains. 

Sitting on the edge of Amir’s bed, Zayn feels a sharp pain rush through him at the naive thought his son’s verbalizing. “She’ll always get you something, don’t worry about that. Even if you don’t open a present she gets you for a whole year, she’ll still get you another one.” Finding the matching freckle in his child’s eye makes Zayn’s hurt subdue some. “What did I tell you yesterday when you opened the envelope? Your Mum loves you from here,” he places his hand over Amir’s small chest, “to the moon.” The same hand pulls away and points up. “That’s why she lives in the stars, yeah? She’s the one who got you the treehouse in the first place, so of all people, of course she knows it’s going to take a long time to build.” Bending down, Zayn presses a kiss onto the boy’s forehead, doing the same to the stuffed animal he’s clutching. “But it’ll be done before your birthday. I promise.” 

“If you promise…” 

Seeing Amir fight with himself to stay awake has Zayn knowing that the child’s words weren’t meant to question his Father’s sincerity, but rather enforce them to himself before he fell victim to sleep. “I promise,” the older man reiterates, smiling lightly at the sight in front of him. “Good night ‘mir.” 

He’s giving the sleeping boy one more kiss before getting up and exiting the room, shutting off the lights and quietly closing the door behind him. 

Instead of standing in his place outside his son’s room and succumbing to the feelings of sympathy that want to overtake him from listening to Amir’s rationalizing of gifts, Zayn forces himself to move down the hallway and stairs. 

He can’t let himself get consumed by the waves of pain that he’s felt come and go for five and a half years, but the more life milestones that Amir checks off, the higher the water gathers. Having to deal with holidays, especially ones like the day prior, were always the worst of the crashes, hands down. It’s why Zayn ends up drowning himself in tea more than usual - to feel a warmth that his partner’s left him without, a comfort that he can produce with his own two hands. Nothing will ever be a replacement for the woman’s soft touch, but it’s the best he can do. 

Back at the breakfast bar, Zayn opens his email with one hand while the other brings his steaming hot mug up to his lips. Spending quality time with Amir during the first day of his early Easter break meant that Zayn had completely ignored any work for the day, checking emails included. He doesn’t expect much, maybe a few responses from his latest commissioners or notification that the canvases he ordered had been shipped. He definitely doesn’t expect a message regarding the treehouse, much less one sent at 5PM sharp. Whoever this was barely took six hours to reply. Either it was someone who hardly put any effort into the email at all, or the complete opposite - someone who knew _exactly_ what they were doing and therefore didn’t need much time to put together something that would prove their worth. 

Skimming over the paragraphs, Zayn thinks it’s the latter. 

**Hello,**

**I’ve been building things with my hands ever since I can remember. Between helping my Dad at his factory job and toying around with AutoCAD designs, I’ve got quite a lot of experience in carpentry. Even though I’ve never built a treehouse, attached you’ll find tons of pictures that show projects I thought were relevant and similar in structure to prove that I’m more than capable of completing the job.**

**Currently I work Monday - Friday as the Building & Hardware Department Manager at B&Q here in Sheffield, so I would only be able to dedicate the weekends to this project, however, I’m a very quick worker and estimate that it will not take any longer than 6 weekends at 10 hours a day to complete.**

**You’ll see I also attached a couple rough design ideas that I’ve already come up with, but I would love to meet up with you and your child to discuss what they’d like to see in the treehouse to make sure that it’s everything they want. Based on what I’ve sketched, I estimate the total cost to be about £20,000, with half needed before construction and the other half paid at completion. I’m sure you’ll find this price to be very competitive in relation to anyone else who’s messaged you.**

**Thank you for your consideration,**

**Liam Payne**

Clicking through the pictures makes Zayn forget all about the five figure check he’d have to write up front. There are a few that are only blueprints, that, unless the guy just stole from an image search, clearly show that he knows what he’s doing. Various photos of sheds and greenhouses with intricate side paneling are impressive enough, but it’s the last photo of a smiling man - ‘Liam’, Zayn presumes - standing in front of what couldn’t be anything shy of a two bedroom house, that has the Father of one sold. 

🎨🎨🎨🎨🎨 

“Is that him?” 

In a second’s time Louis’ ditching his place in front of the sink where he was helping dry dishes from the evening meal he and Harry had just shared with the Malik’s, to see what his Husband’s found. Wiping his hands on the tea towel he’s kept a hold of on his speed walk around the kitchen, Louis shoves himself up against Harry’s side. “What the fuck Zayn? You didn’t say he was attractive.” 

Even though Amir’s immersed in the show that’s on tv and Louis hadn’t spoken all that loudly, Zayn still turns his head over to the little boy to make sure that he didn’t hear the curse word. For the most part, Louis was pretty good with keeping his swears to himself ever since Zayn deemed Amir impressionable, but he still had his moments. 

“That’s because I don’t know if that’s him or not,” the older Malik informs his friend, as well as the man’s significant other. 

It’s been three days since Zayn both put up the treehouse ad, as well as received Liam’s response. He couldn’t be 100% sure, but the only logical explanation for the last picture of the man in front of a newly finished house, was that he had built it himself. Zayn had immediately written back, telling the man that if he was available on Thursday after six, he was welcome to come over and talk through the plans that he had included. No more than ten minutes passed before Zayn received a confirmation email from the builder, which then had him texting Louis that his bodyguard duties would be needed later in the week. Only then had Zayn taken the time to actually study the picture that his two best friends were now dissecting. 

Between the tattered jeans and paint stained white t-shirt, there was a chaotic sort of calm that the man embodied. His smile reached all the way to his ears, causing his eyes to bunch up from his cheeks being pushed up so high, the stubble around his jawline softening from the pride he’s exuding. Zayn can’t blame him. The house isn’t the most modern, but it’s certainly nothing to write off. There’s a small garden around the edge of the front porch and an awning that’s not typical of British houses - something that makes Zayn want to ask the man where he got the inspiration from. Under beaten up Timberland’s, brick lines the driveway, the material switching from the typical burnt red colour over to a darker black closer to the front door. There was no way Zayn would even know where to start if he was tasked to build a house, so the home’s enough for him to want to see what Liam can do putting one in a tree, but if that really was the man in the picture, he’d be interested to see if his smile was as infectious in person as it was through a screen. 

“Well if it’s not, at least Liam knows whoever this guy is.” Louis clicks through the rest of the pictures, but returns back to where he started when he realized that it was the only picture with someone in it. “Maybe if you’re lucky, he’ll help.” 

“He made it out like he just works on his own, so I don’t know,” Zayn says while putting away the last of the pasta leftovers that Harry had brought over for dinner. 

“Twenty thousand?” Looking over his shoulder, Zayn sees that Louis’ brought it upon himself to snoop more and read Liam’s initial email. “You sure you don’t want to just buy the kid a car?” 

“I know it sounds crazy,” Zayn’s tone shares Louis’ disbelief. “But I looked up professional places that specialize in treehouses and they were upwards of ten grand more, so he’s not lying when he says he’s got a competitive rate.” 

Shock doesn’t even begin to describe what Zayn felt the moment he saw the price tag on the first professionally built treehouse he came across. Going through the company’s website, and then venturing on to others, it became apparent that there was no way he would get away with spending anything less than twenty five thousand. Hearing Liam could do it for twenty was almost too good to be true, yet the pictures gave him hope that it wasn’t a made up figure. Zayn had the money, that wasn’t the problem, but if he could save five grand, he planned on doing so. 

“I just say buy a storage shed and hall it up into the tree,” Louis jokes as he goes back to drying the last of the dishes. 

Banter or not, Zayn still narrows his eyes at his friend’s back. “Glad _you’re_ the one I have babysit him the most when I need to leave the house for meetings.” 

Holding up both hands in surrender, one still holding a red plate, Louis widens his eyes dramatically, “hey, it’s your money.” 

_It’s Ava’s money_, Zayn thinks without hesitation, but before he can go down another negative spiral at his late wife’s memory being tied to the construction project, the ring of the front doorbell goes off. 

As if he wasn’t just consumed by the screen in front of him, Amir hops off the couch in eager anticipation. 

“But since it is yours and not mine, did I mention that Clifford wants a new doghouse?” 

Zayn completely ignores Louis’ asinine request and goes to get the door before Amir has the chance. He’s taught the boy well when it comes to making sure he knows who it is before letting them in, but Zayn knows that when he gets overly excited, he can throw caution to the wind when it comes to what’s right and wrong. 

And for a second, when he opens the door, Zayn thinks that maybe he might be the same way. 

“Hi!” Amir greets cheerfully by his Dad’s side, smiling wide at the man who’s been revealed. 

“Hi,” the stranger grins back. The crinkles next to his eyes confirm that Liam is in fact the man from the picture, except he’s not at all as boyish as he appeared in the photo. 

There’s much more to his beard, and his hair isn’t quite as long as it was either, but Zayn likes it this way; it shows off his stunning dark brown eyes much better. He’s only slightly taller than Zayn, though the brown boots that match the ones in the photograph could be adding to his height, it’s hard to tell. What’s _not_ hard to tell is how muscular his build is, even when its covered by a light blue jumper and dark wash jeans. It was apparent in the picture, but seeing the male this close made it out to be a lot more prominent than Zayn would’ve thought. 

“Are you the treehouse guy?” 

Liam’s smile grows at Amir’s nickname for him. “That’s me. What’s your name?” 

“Amir,” the boy replies without missing a beat. 

“What a cool name.” Switching the scrolls of paper that he was holding to his left hand, Liam extends his right out for the child to shake. “Well it’s very nice to meet you Amir.” 

Amir’s already thrilled to be meeting someone new, much less the person responsible for his treehouse, but he smiles even wider in response to being treated like a grown up with the formal greeting. His hands are about four times smaller than Liam’s, yet when the contractor’s moved on to shaking Zayn’s, the older Malik doesn’t think that it’s because his son’s hands are any tinier than normal for a five year old, but rather that Liam’s are just incredibly large. And calloused. Shockingly so, he discovers the more his palm rubs against the other’s. 

“Hi, I’m Liam.” 

Coming to, Zayn finally finds his voice. “Zayn. Thanks for coming.” 

That’s all that comes out, however. The artist’s too focused on the warmth from this stranger’s chocolate eyes that he can’t seem to be bothered to say anything more. Thankfully Amir’s there to save the day. 

“Do you want to hear the story of my name?” 

Whether it’s because he genuinely does, or he wants to make the boy believe he does, Liam replies with an enthusiastic “Of course!”. 

From behind him, Zayn hears a loud cough. “Um, why don’t you come in first,” he invites, opening the door wider to match his words. 

Liam nods curtly, but then hesitates on the first few steps inside. “Do you want me to take off my shoes?” 

“No, you’re good,” Zayn dismisses, waiting to shut the door until the male’s all the way in. 

“Amir means prince in Arabic,” the younger boy pipes up as he leads the way into the house, not wanting for his explanation to go forgotten. “And my surname is Malik.” He looks up at Liam, “do you know what that means?” 

Shaking his head, Liam walks beside the child. “Nope.” 

“King,” Amir spouts, eyes gleaming at what he’s about to reveal. “So I’m a prince _and_ a king!” 

Zayn bites his bottom lip in fondness as he trails behind the two. When he found out he was having a boy, there was no question what his name would be; it was too good of an opportunity to pass up. He was just glad that his wife had agreed and he didn’t need to plead his case. 

“Then I shouldn’t have shook your hand,” Liam imparts, embarrassed. “I should have bowed, I’m sorry.” Once he sets the papers in hand on the table, he turns to Amir and places one arm behind his back before bowing. 

Witnessing the act has Zayn bunching his eyebrows together in curiosity at just who this person was that managed to get his son to laugh so loudly, so quickly. 

After Amir’s bowed in return, thus relieving Liam of his bent position, the man introduces himself to the other two in the room. “Hey, I’m Liam.” Again, he reaches out to shake hands with whoever he’s meeting eyes with. 

“Harry,” the first enlightens, eyeing Liam in the same way that Zayn was now that the male had given them a preview as to how he was with kids. 

When it’s his turn, Louis informs him of his name before taking a seat at the table. “We were only over for dinner, but I think we’ll stay for a bit longer.” Zayn nearly rolls his eyes at Louis’ blatant lie regarding his and Harry’s whereabouts at the house. “I’m intrigued to see what you’ve brought.” The second sentence however, might have actually been true, since Zayn’s thinking the same thing. 

“I drew up more official blueprints than the ones I sent over originally.” Preparing the sheets atop the oak table, Liam looks to Zayn, “can I roll them out here?” 

“Sure,” Zayn nods casually, “but why don’t I show you the spot before it starts getting dark.” 

All five stare out of the three glass doors that allow for an expansive view of the backyard. The sun hasn’t gone down yet, but the shadows that the surrounding fence is casting on the manicured grass say that it isn’t far from doing so. 

“This is a huge backyard,” Liam marvells once he, Zayn, and Amir are walking towards the end of the lot. 

“It was a must when I was house shopping.” 

Zayn’s words are the honest truth, too. Like the construction he was about to pay for, the house wasn’t cheap, nor was it easy to find. In the end it took Zayn around six months of taking tour after house tour before he settled on this one. Even though Amir was only two at the time, he knew that the space would be needed when he grew up. That, and he had made a promise to his wife that he planned on keeping that required the land. 

“Do you play football?” Liam asks the little boy next to him when they’re passing the youth sized goal anchored in the grass. 

“Yeah, Uncle Louis’ a coach,” Amir brags. “He’s teaching me how to play.” 

“I bet you’re really good.” 

As soon as the words are out of Liam’s mouth, the boy’s darting off to find his ball. “Do you want to see me score a goal?” 

Out of the corner of his eye Zayn can see that Liam smiles just like he does at Amir’s desire to show off his developing talent. “Maybe next time ‘mir,” Zayn calls. “Liam’s gotta do some work.” 

Only slightly disappointed, Amir makes his way back to Zayn’s side. 

“So this is it?” Liam’s got his hands on his hips, surveying the three trees that they’ve stopped in front of. 

“This is it,” Zayn repeats, staring up at the greenery. Thanks to being out later in the day, he doesn’t need to shield his eyes from the sun when he tilts his head back to try and make out their tops. 

“It’s just begging for a treehouse to be built.” Taking out a phone from his back pocket, Liam starts to take pictures of the area. 

“That’s a relief to hear,” Zayn admits, crossing his arms over his chest as he watches the man at work. 

Continuing with his motions, Liam questions, “Do you not think so?” 

“No, I do,” Zayn’s quick to clarify. “But I’ve got no professional experience, unlike you. What I think looks good might not be able to hold a bird.” 

While Liam doesn’t look away from his phone screen, he does smile at the other’s self deprecating joke. “Trust me, it’s perfect.” Moving around for better angles, Liam briefly looks around to see where the smaller Malik is so he doesn’t run into him, finding that he’s leaning against his Dad’s right leg and watching him intently. “So was this a birthday present Amir?” 

“No,” the boy naturally grips onto Zayn’s arm that’s fallen to the man’s side. “Mummy got it for me for Mother’s Day on Sunday.” 

When Zayn sees Liam put down his phone, he fully expects him to start asking follow up questions. The “oh yeah?” that the builder gives instead as he walks up to the trunk of the nearest tree to inspect it close up, impresses Zayn even more than the respectful royal exchange that he had with his son a few minutes prior. 

“Yeah, but it’s ok,” Amir reassures him kindly. “You don’t have to finish before my birthday. Baba says she’ll still get me a present even if I don’t play with this one first.” 

Ear up against the tree as he knocks on it, Liam asks his next question. “When’s your birthday?” 

“August 15th.” 

“No way!” Liam exclaims in an over the top voice, prying himself away from the first tree and moving on to the next. “My birthday’s in August too!” 

At the mention of having something in common, Amir’s eyes light up. “Really?” 

“Yeah, but it’s not until the 29th.” Having deemed that tree sound, Liam moves on to the third. Zayn wonders what he’s looking for exactly. Termites? Thickness? Age? 

“How old are you going to be?” 

A small laugh falls from Liam’s lips at Amir’s inquiry. “Twenty six,” he answers, running a hand over his head to rid it of any pieces of bark that might have chipped off onto him now that he was done with his observations. “How about you?” 

Amir squeezes where he’s holding onto Zayn from overflowing passion. “I’ll be six!” 

“Does that mean you’ll be starting Year 1 in the fall?” As he walks back over to the Father-son duo, Liam keeps his eyes on the smaller of the two, who’s now nodding in response to his question. “Are you excited?” The nods increase in speed. “Well I promise your treehouse will be done way before then and when you start school, all your new friends can come over and play in it.” 

“Wicked,” Amir whispers to himself, lost in the imagery of what Liam’s words have just created. 

“Ok, I’m all good out here.” Liam nods in the direction of the house, “should I show you what I drew up?” 

Now being the one spoken to, Zayn locks eyes with the other adult. “Sounds good,” he acquiesces, tugging his arm gently to get the boy to follow the men back into the house. 

Once he’s inside, Liam starts to unravel his scrolls of paper over the dining room table. “Can you hold this for me Amir?” The boy’s standing on the long, wooden bench with Zayn’s hands on his waist when he leans forward to press down on the end of the paper to make sure it resists the urge to roll up on itself. “Thank you,” Liam says appreciatively as he uses the table’s napkin holder to weigh down the opposite end of the blueprint. 

Zayn’s fully prepared to listen to the explanation of what’s in front of him now that the plans are on display. He’s not at all expecting for the fit man to double back and use his phone as a replacement weight for Amir’s hands. From across the table, Zayn makes eye contact with Harry, who didn’t seem to miss the switch either. Louis was in his own world trying to make out the lines and circles on the gridded sheets, but Zayn saw it. 

Rather than pulling out his phone to begin with, Liam had made Amir feel needed, even if it had just been for a few seconds while he fastened the other end. It was completely unnecessary, yet still the route he took. Now Amir was free to stand on the bench and take in the designs without being distracted. 

“So I’ve got two ideas, but this one’s my favourite,” Liam states proudly. “I just sort of came up with what I would want if I was a kid.” 

Even though he stares at drawings all day as his profession, Zayn finds the blueprint to be a lot. Brilliantly impressive, but a lot. 

The three trees act as the three corners of the platform that’s high in the air at three meters. Next to the back right tree is where the main house portion of the structure sits, with a more detailed look at the inside of it being drawn at the bottom corner of the gridded paper. Along with two windows on opposite walls, it looks like there’s more than enough room for three adults to fit in, plus a desk and chairs. Coming out from underneath the ‘house’ is a wooden ladder, but there’s another wider one at the front of the landing that’s made of rope. Lastly, Zayn’s eyes catch a slide that lets out behind the treehouse and a swing hanging adjacent from the chute, facing the rest of the yard. 

“I’m going to need to take measurements,” Liam continues, “but from eyeballing your pictures and the area, I think this could all fit nicely.” 

From his spot hovering above the drawing, Amir looks puzzled. “I don’t get it.” 

Zayn’s about to start explaining the different elements of the sketch, but then he realizes that it must be the nature of the blueprints that’s confusing his son. “Here, one second.” In a flash, Zayn’s making the boy sit down on the bench while he goes to his studio, only coming back to his spot when he’s got a sketchbook and pen in hand. “_That_ is what Liam needs to make sure that all the numbers are correct,” the man explains, turning to a blank page and quickly starting to draw a more realistic picture of the treehouse, not like the complicated construction version that’s in front of him. “But this….” His eyes dart back and forth from the blueprints to the interpretive outline. “Is what it will look like when it’s done.” Once he sets his pen down, Zayn looks up to Liam for confirmation that what he’s drawn is what the builder meant by his plans. 

Instead of meeting his gaze, Liam’s eyes are focused on the black and white sketch that Zayn’s produced in less than a minute. He figures things must be all good; if he’s made a mistake, the other would’ve mentioned it by now. 

“Whoa!” Amir gasps, all attention now on his Dad’s version of the treehouse. “Is that a slide?” 

“Yep,” Liam confirms, lips turning up at the notion that his tiny client approved of his work. “Do you like slides?” They reach even higher as soon as Amir’s nodding frantically in response. 

“What else do you want ‘mir?” Turning his head to face his Dad, Amir tries to think of an answer to give him. “It’s got lots of space inside to play.” Or at least Zayn thinks it does. From what he can make of the blueprint, it looks like Liam’s estimated the house portion to be about six square meters. He can’t really tell how big the front landing part is. “And the ladder looks cool, doesn’t it?” 

Amir’s stare locks in on the ladder laced with rope. “Yeah, super cool.” 

“There’s another in the back here, so he can climb up into the inside directly.” Leaning forward, Liam points out the regular wooden ladder that’s coming out the bottom of the house portion of the build. “I figure I can put a latch door on it that can open and close so it’s not a safety hazard when he’s inside.” 

Right as Zayn’s about to ask if Liam can add a lock to go along with it, Amir speaks up. “Can there be a tyre swing?” 

The request instantly piques Liam’s interest. “A tyre swing?” 

Amir nods, “Yeah, like the one in Calvin and Hobbs.” 

Seeing that Liam’s confused by the comic reference, Zayn opts to help him out. “I have an old strip framed in my studio.” 

Now that Liam’s looped in, he looks more than accepting of the suggestion. “There can be a tyre swing.” Suddenly Liam’s got a wood pencil in his hand, Zayn thinking he must’ve blinked because he definitely didn’t see that on the table a second ago. “Is it ok if I take out the regular swing in the front and replace it with a tyre one?” After receiving confirmation from Amir, Liam starts to make a small note to himself on the corner of the paper that’s closest to him, only asking “anything else?” after he’s done writing what he needs. 

Rather than really thinking about an answer, Amir simply shakes his head, stopping when Liam’s pulling back the top piece of paper and revealing another sketch underneath it. 

“Like I said,” the man continues, “I made another.” 

Barely ten seconds go by before Amir’s letting Liam know that he likes the first one better. 

“Yeah, me too,” Liam agrees. 

If Zayn wasn’t such a soft spoken person, he’d say ‘me three’. It wasn’t that the second sketch wasn’t amazing. To know that that came out of Liam’s head and Liam’s head only was incredible, but the triangular design wasn’t nearly as enticing as the L-shaped first one. 

“So you can really do all that on your own?” Harry points to the draft that Liam’s folding back on top. 

“Mostly, yeah.” The napkin holder finds its way back to the edge of the paper. “I was going to ask if it was alright if a friend I work with could come help me put up the foundation, but other than that, it’s just going to be me.” 

“That’s fine,” Zayn approves nonchalantly. 

Hearing that someone else will be coming around the house to aid Liam, doesn’t diminish the man’s ability to do the other 80% of the work alone. Zayn’s just grateful that he got lucky enough to have found someone who’s team maxes out at two. He’d rather not have to deal with a huge group of strangers wandering around his backyard for an extended period of time. 

Harry’s still not sold. “And in six weeks?” 

“Roughly,” Liam replies quickly. “I have to do real measurements and adjust the scale based on those, but I’m a pretty fast worker.” Realizing that they’re done with the blueprints, Liam starts to roll them back up. “I’d probably start at around eight or nine in the morning and continue until it gets dark. Would that be ok?” 

As he’s being asked a question, the line work Zayn was staring at disappears with the rest of the white sheet. “Yeah, I think so.” 

“Great,” Liam replies, tapping the end of the tube he’s created on the table top. 

“Well, uh, you’ve got the job.” A small chuckle comes from Zayn at how obvious that sounded, “clearly.” He helps Amir down from his standing position, to a sitting one. “Can you start Saturday?” 

“First thing.” Liam’s voice is full of determination now that he’s been given the green light, a tiny smile playing on his lips. “Thank you so much. This’ll be a fun build.” 

“Thank _you_,” Zayn corrects, genuinely meaning it since this was turning out to be a lot more seamless of a process than he expected. 

“Hey Liam...” 

Oh no. 

Zayn knew Louis being quiet for this long was too good to be true. 

“Did you build that house in the picture you sent over?” 

“Yeah, about four years ago,” Liam affirms, unsure if he should keep standing or take a seat now that a more casual conversation was taking place. “I had help, definitely couldn’t do it _all_ alone, but I did most of it myself.” 

“So building a doghouse would be pretty easy for you then?” 

Yep, way too good to be true. 

“A cinch, yeah.” Instantly, the male tilts his head. “Why?” He looks down at the floor as if there was a dog around that hadn’t showed itself. “Do you need one?” 

“No,” Zayn speaks firmly, getting up from his seat. “Let me just write you a check.” 

From his spot standing near the edge of the table, Liam watches Zayn rummage through a book bag on the breakfast bar. “Oh, and I should mention that it might be wise for you to talk to your neighbors before Saturday. Just to let them know about the noise and lumber staying in the backyard. You don’t need a building permit for treehouses, but just so they don’t get annoyed.” 

“That’s easy enough.” Taking a pen from the sticker decorated tin can full of them, Zayn starts to make out the check. “And we have a storage room alongside the house, so you can keep your tools and things in there too.” 

The information has Liam raising his eyebrows in surprise, “Ace.” 

“So what do you do full time?” 

Zayn wants to scoff at how Louis’ trying to make it come off as if he hadn’t studied Liam’s emails seconds before the man walked through the front door. 

“I’ve been working at B&Q since I was in sixth form,” Liam says in a prideful tone. “But I take on weekend jobs like this to help save up money to open my own home improvement business.” 

“Entrepreneur, huh?” Louis leans his head lazily on his fist that’s propped up on the table, staring directly at where Liam’s standing. 

“Oh no,” Liam’s quick to clarify. “That’s my mate Niall. Same guy who’ll help me out with the foundation work. He went to uni for business.” 

Talk of secondary education renews Harry’s interest in the conversation. “Here? Sheffield?” 

Liam nods, “yeah.” 

“Me too, but for psychology.” Harry messes with one of the many rings adorning his fingers. “When’d he graduate?” 

Officially bored the moment Liam replies with “2014”, Amir takes off from the table to go back to his TV show that’s been left on in the background. 

“Year above me then,” Harry says mostly to himself in disappointment. 

In Zayn’s eyes, Harry was _the_ socialite of the city. Quite possibly in all of England. He and Louis were always going down to London any chance they got, but in Sheffield, if you were anybody, Harry knew who you were. Even if you weren’t he still did. Working as a social worker gave him a leg up on that crowd, allowing for him to meet the people whose names weren’t as easy to come by in the city centre. When they first met, Zayn had hardly moved down more than week prior before he came across a fresh faced, ready-to-tackle-the-world Harry at an art exhibit the university was holding. Ten minutes into their conversation on the painting Zayn had been analyzing and the older man realized that the curly haired eighteen year old was worth getting to know. If not because he had a decent grasp on art, then to use him in order to make more friends in the new city. 

“When I finally open up, he’ll take over that part of the company.” Liam shrugs as he plays with the edges of his blueprint tube, “I just want to build things.” 

“Bet you get an earful from your girlfriend about being gone on the weekends so much,” Louis interjects nosily. “Or boyfriend…” 

If his back wasn’t already to the room, Zayn would’ve turned around just to avoid seeing how Liam would take to the blatant prying. Although, from the sound of the male’s tone, he doesn’t sound embarrassed at all. 

“I don’t have either,” Liam confesses. “So no having to worry about date nights at the moment.” 

There’s no need for Zayn to even guess if Louis’ satisfied with the answer, his simple “good on you” a meer slice of what he’s actually thinking. 

“Right, well here’s the first half.” Finally, Zayn turns around, handing over the small slip to Liam. 

“Thanks again,” the contractor asserts, not even glancing at the payment to make sure it was the correct amount, just going ahead and shoving it in his pocket. “It was nice meeting you two,” he directs to the two men still sitting at the table, moving towards the front door once Louis and Harry simultaneously respond with “you too”. 

“Bye Amir,” Liam waves lightly before rushing past the flat screen so as not to disturb the boy’s show. “I’ll see you Saturday.” 

Separating himself from the media, Amir beams at the adult. “Bye!” When his Dad’s following Liam past his program, the boy immediately frowns at the interruption. 

“If he comes up with anything else, you’ve got my email. And I put my number in the last one so you can text or call too.” Looking behind his shoulder, Liam makes sure that Zayn can tell he means what he says. “If I don’t pick up, I’m probably working, but I’ll get back to you.” 

“I’m not sure what else he could think of,” Zayn grins with humour, “but I’ll let you know if he draws up some wacky spiral staircase for you to add.” 

“I could do that, you know.” 

Liam’s stopped himself in front of the door, expression completely serious, and eager to take direction at the drop of a hat. It makes the right side of Zayn’s smile lift up a tad bit more. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he replies kindly. 

Comfortable to leave now that Zayn knows he’s capable of adaptation, Liam lets himself out. “Alright, well, see you in a couple days.” 

Zayn takes over and holds the door, “See ya.” It isn’t until he’s made sure the other’s gotten in his red truck ok, that Zayn locks the door and makes his way back into the dining room, ignoring Amir’s second aggravated glare. 

“So do you want help moving your easel out here now, or later?” 

“Stop,” Zayn says deadpan in response to Louis’ obnoxious question. “Amir, do you want sorbet?” 

The little boy’s up and off the couch in a flash, “yeah!” 

Pulling out the container from the freezer, Zayn looks to the couple at the table. “Do you two want some?” 

Harry smiles politely, “please.” 

Shaking his head no to the dessert, Louis gets back to the topic that Zayn’s verily trying to avoid. “He looked good in the photo taken four years ago. Now, and in person?” 

“He looks incredible,” Harry provides, flicking a balled up napkin back and forth across the table to Amir. 

“To say the least,” Louis aids, interfering with the miniature game and stealing the ball. 

“He’s not bad.” By now Zayn’s gotten down three bowls, moving on to finding the ice cream scooper in one of the many utensil drawers. 

“Not bad?” Louis’ ‘kicks’ the ball back to Amir, then focusing his attention on the man doling out the raspberry ice. “You’ve been staring at Jackson Pollocks for way too long; I warned you about this. The time has finally come for you to get a pair of glasses.” 

“I want glasses,” Amir complains, forgetting the game at bay and looking to see if his Dad will approve. Sadly, he’s given the opposite answer he wants to hear. 

“No you don’t. Glasses are only for people who need help seeing.” Balancing the three dishes, Zayn walks over to the table, glare poised straight at Louis. “I can see just fine.” 

“Amir,” Louis starts in a bored tone. “How old are you?” 

Being asked his age twice in one day has Amir over the moon. “Almost six!” 

Louis turns to his friend who’s finally taken a seat. “The first two or three years ignoring people who look like that I got Zayn, but Amir’s almost a teenager.” 

Fits of laughter come from the smaller Malik, “no I’m not!” 

Quickly Louis sends Amir a wink. “You can enjoy yourself you know,” he advises Zayn. 

Swallowing his spoonful of sorbet, Zayn tries to decide on how he wants to fight the man across from him. However, as he looks over to the clock on the microwave and sees that it’s not worth the trouble this late into the evening, he mutters, “I do.” 

“After sunset?” Louis challenges, turning victorious when Zayn stays quiet by shoving another spoonful of dessert into his mouth. “My point exactly.” Crumpling up another napkin, Louis flicks the ball at Zayn. “Break your dry spell with this guy.” 

The paper barely taps his hand, but Zayn still stares at it so he can avoid any more of the others’ expressions. “We’ll see.” 

⚒⚒⚒⚒⚒ 

Come Saturday morning, Zayn’s still debating on whether or not Louis’ concept of throwing himself into the lion’s den is a good one. 

There’s no denying Liam’s striking appearance; he was undoubtedly the type to turn heads in any room he walked into from the combination of his boyish charm and stunning physique. In addition to that, from the twenty minutes he was at the house, Liam proved to be outstanding with Amir. After the boy had been put to bed, Zayn and Harry had a decently long conversation about it. Yet even _with_ both positive aspects to the man - his handsome looks and ability to get along with his son - Zayn can’t seem to figure out if he’s on board yet. Perhaps it’s from the unease that came from the casualness that Louis spoke with, as if it was a walk in the park to just sleep with someone who’s in your life because of your kid, not because you sought them out and treated the relationship as one that revolved strictly around hooking up. Or maybe it was because the people that Zayn _did_ do that with were able to do so during the weekday daylight hours; Liam made it clear that the reason he could only come over on the weekends was because his Monday through Friday was already full. Either way, with Amir constantly talking about how cool Liam’s treehouse design was, it was impossible to shove the thoughts to the back of his head entirely. 

With Amir on break, Zayn had taken advantage of the lazy mornings, whipping them up a proper breakfast of eggs and turkey bacon instead of the usual quick bowl of cereal. He’d done a fairly good job at forgetting about Liam as they ate and Amir went on about what he wanted to do for the day, but washing up their plates puts Zayn right in front of the kitchen window that faces the backyard, forcing him to think of the contractor before he even arrived that morning. When he hears the doorbell ring as he’s putting the dishes on the rack to dry, Zayn wonders if Liam could sense what was going through his mind. 

“I’ll get it!” Amir shouts from the couch. 

Wiping his hands on his black jeans, Zayn checks the time on his phone that was resting on the counter nearby. Not a minute past eight. 

As soon as Zayn opens the door with Amir at his side, Liam bows graciously. “Good morning your majesty.” 

Amir giggles like mad at Liam’s insistence on keeping up with his royal treatment. “Good morning.” 

The male turns to Zayn once he’s standing straight again, “morning.” 

“Hey,” Zayn returns with a grin that found its way onto his lips the second he saw Liam get into character. 

Bringing his gaze back to the little boy, Liam feigns innocent. “Do I have permission to enter your kingdom?” 

Amir nods firmly, loving the game that this new stranger has come up with, “yes.” 

“Thank you.” Liam stomps his feet on the front steps to get any dirt off his shoe’s soles before walking into the house, the empty area where he once stood allowing Zayn to get a good look at his truck in broad daylight. “How’s it going?” The man asks upon hearing the door shut. 

“Not bad.” Zayn trails behind Liam and the much smaller figure next to him. “Just finished up breakfast.” A quick thought occurs to him. “I take it you like to wake up early?” 

Liam’s initial interaction with Amir wasn’t the only thing that had Zayn feeling taken aback; the builder looked way too refreshed for 8AM. His outfit of broken-in, light wash jeans and a plain grey t-shirt didn’t go unnoticed, but Zayn was more shocked by how revved up to go Liam seemed to be. Before Amir came along, Zayn wouldn’t have ever dreamed about getting up before eight, much less be this happy to work at such an early hour. Now he simply doesn’t have a choice. 

“As a kid not really,” Liam replies nonchalantly, “but my Dad always used to tell me that if I was going to work on a project, then I should wake up early and start before it got too hot.” 

The suggestion nearly has Zayn snorting. “When does it ever get hot enough in Northern England that you need to worry about getting heat stroke?” 

“That’s what I would tell him,” Liam agrees, “but over time I just got used to it. Now I enjoy watching the first few sun rays show themselves.” Taking a seat at the dining room table, Liam shrugs, “Or clouds. Can never tell living in a place like this.” 

Instead of joining the man like Amir, Zayn veers into the kitchen. “Even so, do you want some coffee?” 

“Sure.” Liam sets the small burlap tote bag that was hanging from his right shoulder on the table. “Thank you.” 

“How do you take it?” 

“Just a bit of milk.” 

He’s already got the carton out, but Zayn still asks, “lactose free ok?” 

Looking up from the iPad he’s pulled out of his bag, Liam stares at the man with curiosity. “I’ve never had it before,” he discloses, “but I don’t see why not.” 

Amir takes the chance to offer up a fact of his own, “I’m lactose intolerant.” 

Raising his eyebrows at the child to show that he was heard, Liam lets Zayn continue to talk. “It doesn’t taste very different, especially when you mix it in with things. It’s not like almond milk where it changes the flavor.” Zayn notices there aren’t anymore clean mugs in the cupboard, so he opens up the dishwasher and takes one from there. “I drink my coffee black, but I’d bet the beans will overpower whatever taste there it does have.” 

“I don’t mind trying something new,” Liam comments freely, turning back to the smaller version of the man when he hears his question. 

“Do you have games on there?” 

When he sees Amir’s referencing the iPad, Liam shakes his head. “No, I’m not much of a video game guy. I mostly use this for work.” He holds down the side button to power the device on. “Wanna see?” 

“Yeah.” The zeal that had instantly drained out of Amir at the lack of fun downloaded on the tablet was now back when a 3D image of a treehouse is brought up with the app Liam touched. “Is that mine?” 

“Mhmm,” the contractor hums. “It’s easier to picture it this way, huh?” Amir nods without removing his eyes from the rendering. “It’s not as personal as your Dad’s drawing, but it’s still kinda cool. Don’t you think?” 

His small hand’s already hovering over the screen, but Amir doesn’t allow himself to give in until he’s allowed. “Can I touch it?” 

“Just don’t hit any of these buttons,” Liam points to the toolbar at the top of the program, “and you can move it around as much as you want.” Seeing that Zayn’s brought over his coffee, the male accepts the mug with a “thank you” before blowing on its contents. 

Sitting next to Amir, Zayn studies the screen. “You got high tech.” 

The comment has Liam scrunching up his nose. “I much rather use old school paper and pencil, but I’ve got to adapt to the times. People like Amir tend to want to _see_ what they’re getting as realistically as possible.” He takes a cautious sip of his drink. “I need a lot more practice. This took me hours. My regular blueprints only took me a little less than one.” 

The more Amir moves around the animated treehouse, the more impressed Zayn finds himself with Liam’s abilities when it comes to anything construction related. “It’d take me a lifetime,” he acknowledges. “So kudos.” 

There’s only a slight tint to Liam’s cheeks when he gives his thanks for the compliment. “I’ve got to go out and correct the measurements, but I wanted to come in and show the both of you the edited version with the tyre swing.” 

While Amir had fallen in love with how he could dramatically zoom into certain parts of the structure, Zayn hadn’t missed the addition. “Looks sick,” he comments, taking advantage of Amir’s most recent magnifying of the railings to see how detailed the software could get. 

“Yeah, looks sick,” the little boy repeats immediately after his Dad. 

“Perfect.” From behind his mug, Liam smiles at the two male’s across from him. “Well I’ll just be outside then.” 

Zayn’s eyes flicker up to see the other adult rising from his spot. “If you need anything, just let me know.” 

Coffee in hand, Liam looks to be thinking if he’s got any requests off the bat that he should voice before heading into the backyard. “The only thing I think I need from either of you is Amir’s height.” He nods his head in the direction of the clear space next to the entertainment center. “Can you stand up against the wall for me?” 

Amir doesn’t need to be asked twice, not wasting any time in standing up and putting his body flush with the wall. “I’m always growing, you know,” he informs Liam strictly. 

“You’re lucky,” the builder shares as he walks over to the boy with his tape measure. “I wish I was still growing.” Stepping on the metal tip where the tape started at zero, Liam pulls up. “Maybe one day you’ll be taller than I am.” 

Doing his best to stay as still as a rock, Amir replies, “I want to be as tall as Uncle Harry.” 

Liam lines up the yellow strip with the top of Amir’s head. “Keep drinking your milk and you just might be.” Looking behind his shoulder at the sound of Zayn’s quiet laughter, Liam smiles. “I don’t know if that’s still a thing or if it’s another one of those facts that science has disproved by now, but…”. He shrugs, removing his boot and letting the tape ravel back into itself. 

Amir’s eager to know what the final number was. “How tall am I?” 

“Today you’re 107 cm,” Liam lets him know, jotting down the number on a notepad he pulls out of his tote before taking a swift drink of his coffee. “Ok, on to the rest.” In the blink of an eye, he attaches the measuring tape to his jeans pocket and goes to open the back door, Amir following after him. 

“‘Mir,” Zayn scolds softly, “stay inside. Liam needs space to work. The faster he can do the planning, the sooner he’ll finish.” 

At the sound of having to watch from afar, Amir pouts. 

“It’s ok,” Liam reassures them both. “He won’t be in the way. In fact,” he looks down at the boy standing to his right, “if your Dad says it’s ok, you can hold the measuring tape.” 

Right away, Amir turns to his Father with an even greater pout. “Please?” 

Zayn likes to think he’s become immune to the whiny voice and big eyes over the years, but there’s something about the pleading expression that gets to him this time. “Ok,” he relents, figuring that he can observe from the window and if Amir starts to become a bother he can call for him. 

Amir’s all smiles as Liam leads the way out, and continues to be listening to the easy instructions on how to hold the end of tape. 

“Are you going to send your Mum pictures when I’m done?” Liam asks the boy as he walks backwards, the tape unraveling with him. “To show her what her gift looks like?” 

“No.” Amir grips his end tightly with both hands. “She can see it where she lives.” 

Thrown by the unexpected answer, Liam furrows his brow. “She can?” 

“Yeah,” the younger male confirms, “but only at night.” 

“You can let go.” Amir does as he’s told, Liam memorizing the number that was given and writing it down on his notepad when the tape’s done rewinding. “Can she see in the dark?” 

“I think so.” Walking to where Liam’s crouched, Amir thinks out loud, “can stars see in the dark?” 

The man hands Amir the end once more, moving towards the next tree. “Is she a star?” 

“Yeah.” 

Amir’s straightforward answer has Liam casting his eyes downward as he walks so the boy doesn’t see the pain in his eyes once he realized what ‘being a star’ really meant. Instead of letting silence takeover like most might, he pushes further. “The brightest one?” 

Now it was Amir’s turn to look puzzled. “How’d you know?” 

Liam’s lips form a small smile. “Lucky guess.” Tugging on his end of the tape signals for Amir to let go once more. “You know,” he says above the sound of the retraction. “If she’s the brightest star, that means that she helps light up the sky for the other stars that can’t see as good as her.” 

“Like a helper?” Amir asks as he comes closer. 

Bending down, Liam writes down the second number on the pad he’s carried with him. “Exactly.” 

As if they weren’t just talking about a heavy subject, Amir jumps into a separate, slightly related story. “I was a helper in class for a whole week once.” 

From his spot inside at the dining table, Zayn watches the two male’s interact on the far end of the yard. He’s not at all surprised when he sees Amir let Liam handle the measurements on his own after the first few notes were made, much happier chatting away about whatever it was that he deemed worthy at the moment than helping with maths. In that sense, Amir was quite different to how Zayn remembers himself to be during his childhood. 

Being an introvert, growing up the only boy in a family with four children drove Zayn mad from time to time. It was only during celebrations or family get togethers when bouts of pent up energy exploded out of him. Other than those once a month occurrences, Zayn kept to himself mostly, only really making a few close friends over the years, nothing at all like how his son was turning out to be. Which only leaves one explanation for his son’s social nature: Amir’s Mother. 

If it weren’t for _her_ coming up to _Zayn_, who knows if Amir would even be here. She was outgoing, yet not annoyingly so. Loved to meet new people, but kept her circle of friends closest. In Zayn’s opinion, her most unique trait was how she had always managed to befriend the quiet types. 

A pang of sadness hits him at the memory of their first meeting. Luckily it doesn’t stay long since Liam and Amir are making their way back to the house. 

“That’s it?” Zayn asks in disbelief when they walk through the door. 

“The trees are practically straight up,” Liam reasons, reaching for his coffee that’s still on the table to see if it’s lost its heat or not. “Like I said the other day, they were meant for this sort of thing.” Accepting of the temperature, he takes a quick sip. “I’m going to head over to the store and adjust my numbers there. Shouldn’t take me any longer than a couple hours.” 

Immediately Zayn’s wondering if he’s done something to make Liam think that he wasn’t welcome to finish _all_ aspects of the project here. “You can do that here if you want,” he offers. 

“Thanks.” The man pauses to down the last of what was in his mug. “But we have a bigger screen that I can work on in the back. It’ll make my life a whole lot easier that way if I’m going to stick to using this.” After waving his iPad to show what he’s referring to, Liam puts it away in his bag. 

“If you say so,” Zayn comments while getting up to take the empty ceramic to the sink. 

Placing his tote over his shoulder, Liam smiles at both Malik’s before he’s walking himself to the front door, “I’ll be back.” 

What he fails to mention is that when he does, it’ll be with a solid amount of wood planks. 

Upstairs in Amir’s playroom, Zayn does a double take out the window when he sees a figure moving in the backyard. It doesn’t take him any time to recognize that it’s Liam hauling the pieces that are various lengths. His initial reaction is to go out and offer a helping hand to the man, but Zayn stops himself. He was paying him twenty grand for fuckssake. If Liam needed help, he could’ve hired it himself. Still, the thought doesn’t stop him from sneaking peeks out the window the entire first half of the day in between playing with Amir. 

“Work up an appetite?” 

Peering up from his spot on the grass, Liam squints in an attempt to make out the adult figure standing in front of him. “Is it lunchtime already?” 

“Little past one,” Zayn supplies, stepping to his left so he can block out the sun for the worker. 

A small shake of the head comes from Liam, “time flies.” 

“Guess that means you’re having fun.” Although Zayn isn’t sure how that’s possible, considering it seems like all Liam’s done for the morning was bring tools and supplies around from where his truck was parked out front, and take inventory of it all. 

Liam sticks his pen behind his ear and leans back on both his hands, “in an I-really-enjoy-my-work sort of way, yeah.” 

The few seconds of dead air between them has Zayn scrambling to try and come up with some sort of flirty remark, but it’s been a while and he’s rusty. All that comes to mind is a cheeky comment on how _he_ likes Liam’s work too, even if all he’s done with Zayn’s money is break a menial sweat. 

“Are you going out to eat?” 

Bullocks. 

Liam looks to the back door, for Amir, Zayn assumes. “I can leave if you don’t feel comfortable with me being here while you’re gone.” 

Before the man has the ability to stand up like he looks ready to, Zayn stops him. “No, no, that’s not it. I was going to order delivery.” He licks his lips out of habit, “do you like mac and cheese?” 

“I do.” Eyes now back on the figure in front of him, Liam holds a humourous expression. “Is that what the prince wants?” 

“I hope you know,” Zayn prefaces with an accusatory tone. “The more you call him that, the more he’s going to use it against me.” 

Liam’s not blind to the banter, but he still cocks his right eyebrow, “you’re the one who came up with it.” 

“It’s a clever combination,” Zayn boasts, mostly because he genuinely thought it was, regardless of whether or not anyone else did. 

Dropping his joking guise, Liam turns intent on getting an answer to the question: “Do you speak Arabic?” 

“No,” the other provides, “but I can read it.” 

Liam nods in response, but his eyes still hold a glint of unresolve. “So, Baba…?” 

“Means Dad in Urdu - which I _can_ speak,” Zayn replies, forgetting how odd the foreign words or phrases that he and his son exchange might seem to someone who wasn’t familiar with them. With the language being the main one spoken in his parents’ home as well, Zayn’s never known any other way. 

“Got it,” Liam confirms swiftly. 

Before awkward silence falls on them again, Zayn goes back to his original topic. “The mac and cheese from this place is dairy free.” He rocks on his heels while he speaks, “up for trying two new things in one day?” 

Virtually no sign of discomfort shows on Liam’s features at the warning. “The coffee was good, so I think so.” 

A spark ignites in Zayn. From where, he doesn’t know, but he’s taking advantage of the inspiration before it leaves him. “Now that I know how you take it,” he says in a confident voice, “consider your weekend coffees on me for the next six weeks.” 

Instead of allowing himself to smile fully, Liam holds himself back, only letting the corners of his lips turn up slightly at the flirtatious advance. “Alright,” the man replies simply, waiting to see what else Zayn might have to say after that. 

To the older male, the sincere response was an open invitation to not only continue _actually_ making the contractor his coffee, but to also proceed with the playful words; Liam would be ok with that. “I’ll let you know when the food gets here,” Zayn instructs, turning around and walking back to the house with a smug smile when he hears Liam’s short “ok”. 

An hour later and Zayn’s traded his cocky demeanor for an enthralled one, charmed by how the contractor’s taken to the meal. 

“It’s actually really good,” Liam confesses after taking a healthy bite. 

“Honestly,” Zayn starts, turning his head to his right to stare at Liam’s profile. “I don’t even remember what dairy tastes like anymore.” 

Before he speaks, the man wipes his mouth with the closest napkin. “Are you lactose intolerant too?” 

“Not by birth, like him,” Zayn nods in the direction of his son, who’s left the two adults alone at the patio table to play with his trucks in the dirt. “But once he was diagnosed, I adjusted my own diet. It was easier that way, and now he doesn’t have to feel left out.” Figuring Liam doesn’t want to be watched while he eats, Zayn goes back to making sure the little boy doesn’t get into any trouble. “It’s been five years though, so I think my body pretty much acts the same way as if it _is_ lactose intolerant now that I’ve eaten like it is for so long.” 

“I think I’d just miss chocolate.” Reaching for his container, Liam scoops himself another spoonful of food. “The rest I could adjust to. Especially if it tastes like this,” he motions with his utensil to show what he’s referring to. 

If it weren’t for the amount of food that Liam was eating, Zayn would’ve probably taken his words as a courtesy and not the truth. “This place is the best. There are definitely more rubbish dairy free recipes than there are good ones.” The casual nature of the conversation makes Zayn spread his legs wider to get more comfortable. “You know, it’s rare to come by, but they do sell chocolate without lactose.” 

Liam seems intrigued by the idea. “What’s it taste like?” 

Picking at his short beard, Zayn tries to think up an accurate description that a person with a normal diet would be able to understand. “Sort of like how flat soda might taste in comparison to regular,” he explains, “but he doesn’t know any different.” Amir rams his truck into a muddy patch of grass. “Sugar’s sugar.” 

“True,” Liam chuckles, smiling at children’s love for sweets and the energy Zayn’s little one has even without any. 

“What other foods do you like?” 

Tearing his eyes away from the boy’s antics, Liam’s grin is now directed at Zayn. “I eat pretty much everything.” Right as the Zayn’s about to ask for a more specific answer, Liam provides him with one, “chicken and steak are probably my favourites.” 

The whole reason Zayn had asked in the first place was to hopefully gain some useful information that could help him impress the man later down the line, but chicken and steak were two boring foods that he could’ve guessed in his sleep. “You fall into the predictable contractor carnivore stereotype then,” he mocks, keeping his vision on Amir to avoid having to face any offended glances from the person next to him. 

“I said I eat everything,” Liam defends, picking up his water. “Those are just my go to’s.” 

He knows he doesn’t need to ask, but that doesn’t stop Zayn from doing so. “Cheeseburgers?” 

“Oh yeah, of course.” Finishing off the bottle, the builder sets the plastic back on the table. “With a huge plate of chips.” 

Even though he’s listening - is taking mental notes as a matter of fact - Zayn grimaces when he sees Amir pick up a worm and watch it crawl around in his hand. 

“Is that the storage area you were talking about?” 

“Yeah,” Zayn replies after following where Liam’s finger was pointing to the door on the right of him. “It’s fairly empty, so you can put the wood you’re not using in there. Tools too, in case it rains.” 

There’s not much in there, just a few holiday supplies, chests of Zayn’s old artwork, Amir’s baby things, and the boy’s bike that will be coming out sooner rather than later with the summer months quickly approaching. 

Without seeing its contents, Liam still deems the space “perfect.” He checks his phone quickly to get the time. “I’ll probably take the afternoon hauling the rest of what I need back from the store and chucking it in there.” 

Before the screen goes black, Zayn peaks over to see that it’s closing in on half past two. “How many trips do you think it’ll take you?” 

“Five?” Liam shrugs as he scrapes up the last of his food, “maybe less, but it’s only a ten minute drive and I don’t want to bother stuffing too much in the back of my truck when it’s such a short distance from here to there.” 

Both mornings the man arrived at the house, Zayn had taken a good look at his pick-up. By no means was it small, which had the male wondering just how much was going to be needed. “That’s a lot of supplies.” 

“They make treehouse kits that you can buy online,” Liam says as he wipes off his hands for the last time, “but they only come in certain designs. Besides giving you what you want and saving you money, I’m more than capable of doing it without any sort of instruction.” 

All Zayn can do is hum in response. This was the exact reason he hired someone - just hearing that treehouse ‘kits’ existed made Zayn feel even more inadequate when it came to construction. 

“I should get a start on it then,” Liam says, patting his front pockets and turning defeated when he doesn’t find what he’s looking for. “My wallet’s in the truck. Is it cool if I pay you for this later?” 

Zayn doesn’t think twice when he shakes his head in refusal. “Nah, don’t worry about it.” 

Liam looks uneasy about the offer. “Are you sure?” 

“Yeah,” he affirms, glad that the confirmation eliminates the other’s small worry. “It’s nothing.” They’re about to go back to their separate days, Zayn can tell, yet he doesn’t want to leave them on such platonic terms. He needs to weasel his way into Liam’s mind more than he already had that morning if he wants to have any chance at sharing his bed, should he decide to make that a goal of his. 

“I’m gonna bring my work outside and make sure he doesn’t get in your way,” Zayn lets him know, grateful that Louis wasn’t anywhere within earshot to hear that he was going through with the office shift. 

“Really Zayn, he’s fine.” 

It’s the first time the other’s heard Liam say his name aloud. He likes the way it flows in the man’s accent, a jarring difference to how it sounds in Zayn’s thick Northern one. 

“You can stay inside,” Liam adds as he stands, stretching his arms, and examining the male who’s now much smaller than him due to his sitting position. 

Zayn looks up, a surge of confidence coming over him. “What if I want to enjoy the outdoors? The view’s better than it normally is.” 

Understanding the words’ alternate meaning, Liam puffs out his chest ever so slightly in arrogance when he says, “then be my guest.” 

Immediately a sense of achievement comes over Zayn as he watches Liam make his way over to where his tote bag lay under one of the trees and then return across the yard to exit via the side gate. Zayn could’ve swore he saw the male sneak a glance his way to see if Zayn was staring on the way, but it happened so fast that the older man didn’t know if it was real, or if he was just making it up because he wanted it to be. 

Surprisingly, Amir’s so caught up in his own world that he only realizes after the first ten minutes that Liam’s not coming back from his truck. The man’s absence causes Amir to ask his Father if he’s left with a hurt voice that tells Zayn that if Liam hadn’t said goodbye to the boy for the day, the young lad would’ve been gutted. 

After reassuring Amir that Liam would be back soon enough, Zayn goes inside to pick out something to work on from his studio. His eyes scan over a few of his larger pieces that he should probably finish up, but instead he grabs his trusty sketch book and a colourful kids pencil pouch that he snagged for himself while buying Amir’s school supplies last year. 

Turns out the sight of his Dad getting ready to do art inspires the boy, causing him to race upstairs to gather his own box of supplies and favourite Disney colouring book. 

For a while, the designs keep Amir’s attention, but it doesn’t take too long for the five year old to need something else to alternate the colouring with. Running around the yard, fighting invisible soldiers wins the bid. 

As Liam comes and goes throughout the afternoon, Zayn keeps an eye on him. He keeps an eye on Amir too, but if he’s not looking down at the flower he’s sketching, chances are his eyes are drinking in the other adult’s strength in action. On more than one occasion Zayn has to fight himself back from asking if the man wants help, the longer pieces of wood looking to be an awkward handle for him. Perhaps it’s because of the yellow gloves that he’s wearing for protection or maybe simply from years of built up muscle memory that his body and wide hands have accumulated, but the younger male doesn’t drop a thing. 

When he starts bringing around tools instead of wood, Zayn can guess that the trips to B&Q are finished, and apparently so can Amir, since he’s suddenly a lot more interested in Liam’s trips back and forth to the truck, asking what the different tools do each time the man resurfaces with a new one. 

Zayn can’t help but think it’s a bit of a shame that his time admiring the allure of Liam’s balance and muscle exertion is over, though he’s not terribly disappointed by the tradeoff image of the man moving on to putting together a simple ladder. 

By the rumbling of his stomach, Zayn wonders if Liam realizes how late it’s getting; starting something now might not have been the best idea. The thought forces him to finish up his own piece for the day, looking up and instantly asking himself how long he had been in his own world when he sees Amir follow Liam’s instructions to sand one of the steps of the finished ladder that’s stood up against one of the trees. 

“Are you going to make the rope ladder tomorrow?” Amir asks after Liam tells him that he’s done a good job with the smoothing over. 

“No.” Pocketing the square of sandpaper, Liam looks over his shoulder to see Zayn’s stare from his spot on the paved part of the backyard. “My friend’s coming over tomorrow to help me make the floor.” 

Amir starts to climb the first few pegs, “Is his birthday in August too?” 

Liam’s hands grip the side of the ladder even though the boy weighs next to nothing, glancing back at Zayn once more to make sure that it was ok for Amir to go up. Not receiving any sign of protest from the man has Liam allowing Amir to go up as far as he wanted, but also repositioning himself so that he’s standing behind the child rather than to his side. “No, it’s in September. Close though.” 

“August is cooler,” Amir claims once he’s run out of steps to climb, peering down and smiling at how high up he was. 

“It is,” Liam agrees in a lighthearted tone as he watches the boy make his way back to the ground as soon as Zayn calls for him to come inside so he can choose something for dinner. “But don’t tell him that.” 

🌳🌳🌳🌳🌳 

And he doesn’t. Mostly because all Amir _can_ tell him is how cool his accent is. 

“Can you say my name again?” The little boy, dressed in a bright red PawPatrol hoodie asks as he follows Niall from the storage room to the three trees. 

Carrying one of the larger planks, Niall does his best to thicken up his accent for Amir while still making sure not to drop the wood as he walks. Zayn hears him from where he’s picking up a few rogue toys in the yard that Amir left out the day before, smiling to himself at the fact that the man’s accent was much stronger than when he first introduced himself to Zayn that morning. 

The two showed up a bit closer to nine that day, something that Zayn contributed to Niall and not so much self proclaimed early bird Liam. As he served them both cups of coffee, he learned that the two met in the lumber department when Niall had taken a part time job at B&Q after moving to Sheffield for uni. Hearing the Irishman complain about how Liam doesn’t know what fun is outside of working with his hands, Zayn let his mind wander at the double entendre that Niall most definitely didn’t mean to make; he was simply referring to how the man had declined joining him on the gap year he took after getting his degree, preferring to stay home and save, rather than spend. 

Zayn thought it fit Liam. Or at least what he knows of him so far. Still, his brain was too preoccupied at the time with picking apart the man’s outfit of possibly the same beaten up jeans from the day prior and a white tee. Why labour workers always tended to wear light colours when they were bound to get the clothing dirty, Zayn didn’t know, but he wouldn’t mind splattering his expensive oil paints over the expanse of Liam’s collarbone if he was going to show up everyday with them. 

The thought paired together with how disappointed Zayn felt that today was the day Niall had joined the handsome builder, as he was looking forward to warming up his flirting skills over coffee and working outside again. There’s no way he was taking his things out to the patio. The intentions were too obvious, and Zayn wasn’t about to risk making a fool of himself in front of a close friend of Liam’s. Instead, he opted for setting up shop in the dining room area. Having a house with an open concept ground floor, gave Zayn the ability to not only see the backyard from the table, but the kitchen and living area as well, which was where Amir spent a good portion of the morning watching cartoons after Niall and Liam finished taking out the supplies they needed from the storage room. 

Normally, Zayn would never work on the weekend. Even though he was his own boss and never needed to follow a formal schedule when it came to finishing his art, he usually spent as much time as he could with his son on Saturdays and Sundays, but since the boy still had another week free of school, Zayn felt like he could take advantage of the time Amir was busying himself and chip away at his latest commission since they would undoubtedly be spending the rest of the break together. 

Propped up on a small canvas stand sits a half finished, black and white body of a naked woman on the ground, leaning forward as she reaches to touch both hands to her bent left leg. Shadows and her positioning make it so that there’s nothing graphic, which is why Zayn was ok with openly working on the piece outside of his front room studio. 

Occasionally he looks above the canvas, innocently admiring the craftsmanship that the two men outside were partaking in - a whole different kind of art than what Zayn had mastered over his short lifetime. It’s clear that Liam’s the more built of the two, hoisting up the lumber while Niall sets it in place and measures to see if it needs to be trimmed any before using the nail gun to secure the board in place. The helper clearly knows what he’s doing, but Zayn definitely thinks that when the time comes, the businessman title will suit him a lot better than co-constructor. 

Amir’s a perfect timer when he asks what’s for lunch, Zayn just finishing a portion of the woman’s rib cage as he walks up to the table. Since Niall’s there, Zayn goes out to ask both men what they fancied, otherwise he would’ve taken it upon himself to order something from the note in his phone that he’d made of various meals to order Liam based on the minimal food preferences he mentioned he had the day before. When Niall politely declines wanting anything at all, Zayn’s more than a little upset at missing out on listening to Liam’s voice comment on whatever food choice they’d decided on. If he couldn’t outwardly hit on him for the day, then surely he would’ve at least gotten that. 

Apparently there’s a Derby football match on that Niall wants to catch, so wherever the game’s playing is where he wants to go to eat. Zayn doesn’t need to ask Liam if he plans on joining him, that much was obvious. 

Louis’ not there, but if he was, Zayn knows he’d throw him out of his own house for offering up his flat screen for the two to watch the match on. And if that wouldn’t be enough to feel betrayed against, the Doncaster native would’ve really had a go at the littler Malik for rooting on any team other than The Rovers, like he had trained the boy to do ever since Amir started to talk. 

Each cheer in favour of the offense wins the little boy a high five from Niall, Zayn glad to see that the man wasn’t put off by Amir being so interested in him. 

That morning, and now the time spent together at lunch, is enough for Zayn to come to his conclusion that Niall wasn’t half bad with kids, just not nearly as good as Liam. Being able to witness another adult interact with his son for the first time alongside the main worker makes Zayn realize that it’s not just his positive illusion of the male, Liam’s genuinely better than average. 

It’s a thought that briefly sticks with Zayn even after all the adults go back to their work for the afternoon and Amir goes upstairs to play with his toys that his Father had labeled too nice to be taken outside. Getting back into his groove doesn’t take Zayn an incredibly long time, though every time he peeks around his canvas, he’s more and more surprised at how quickly things were coming along outside. Zayn couldn’t tell if Liam had done an adequate enough job planning for the build to just fall into place now that he had all the supplies, or if the rapid speed was due to having a helping hand. regardless of which was the reason, the rate had Zayn worried. He desperately needed to make a solid move before Liam’s six week turnaround turned into two. 

At the end of the afternoon, Zayn finds Amir back at his side, colouring away. It’s the young boy who points out that the men outside must be done for the day since they’re carrying their tools back into the storage space. Not wanting to miss saying goodbye, Amir shimmies off the bench and heads outside with his Dad right behind him. 

“You two did a lot. Wow,” Zayn gawks as he takes in the support triangles that are anchored to the trees and the flooring that sits above them. 

Hands on his hips, Niall stares up alongside him while Liam walks up. “When Payno gets in the zone, he’s a force to be reckoned with, believe me.” 

The work’s remarkable, so Zayn’s serious when he says, “I do.” 

“Can I stand on it?” Amir begs, tilting his head back to look at his Dad for permission, but with an unsure expression of his own, the adult simply passes the question on to the ones who were responsible for the creation. 

“Sure,” Niall replies, dropping his hands to his side as he strides over to the ladder, “but I’ve gotta go up with ya. Don’t want ya fallin’ without the rails on yet.” 

As soon as Niall’s climbed his way up to the platform, Amir makes his ascent without Liam by his side now that the top of the ladder’s attached to the landing. 

“Can you see the street from there?” Zayn calls from below, eyeing the boy like a hawk once he starts walking around next to Niall. 

Amir may be brave, but he doesn’t stray far from the man’s side - something Zayn’s very grateful for. “Yeah, it’s so cool!” 

A couple minutes is all Zayn gives him, feeling second hand freight from his son embracing a three and a half metre drop with way too much enthusiasm for his liking. “Alright, that’s enough. You’re making me nervous.” 

Thankfully Amir only pouts for a few seconds before making his way back down the ladder. “What are you gonna do tomorrow?” He asks when both feet are back on the ground. 

“Liam won’t be back until Saturday,” Zayn answers for the male. “He works during the week.” 

Immediately Amir’s eyebrows bunch together, aimed directly at Liam, “I thought this was your job?” 

“It’s my second job,” Liam clarifies, lips turning up at the child’s expressive nature. “I’ve got two.” 

“You must be rich,” Amir determines, his features softening once he’s been given an explanation. 

All three men laugh at the naive opinion, Liam shaking his head, “not yet.” 

The second Amir sees Niall pick up the last bag of nails and start to leave for the storage room, he’s at his side. “Can you say nails?” 

Niall looks down at the boy with a mildly annoyed expression. “Not all my words sound different.” 

“Not all my words sound different,” Amir repeats in a lousy Irish accent. 

Examining the grass for any left over equipment or forgotten sharp objects, Zayn takes advantage of the alone time he’s been afforded with Liam. “You must be exhausted.” 

“I am,” Liam says, taking a deep breath straight after. “But it’s satisfying.” 

Not one instance comes to mind when Zayn can remember feeling that way from that sort of labour. Instead of wondering what that says about him, he keeps the conversation going. “Busy week ahead of you?” 

“Same ‘ol seven to four shift. Nothing as strenuous as this.” Liam kicks his tan boot into the ground mindlessly. “Unless another landscaper comes in without ordering ahead of time. Last week I had to put together a two hundred kilo load for them on the spot. My back wasn’t too happy with me after that.” 

Zayn winces at just the thought, “sounds rough.” 

“Nothing a good night sleep can’t fix,” Liam shrugs, sticking his hands in his pockets. 

“Or a nice dinner.” The words just roll off Zayn’s lips, surprising both men. Not wanting for the moment to go to waste, Zayn continues with the comment. “Even if you don’t get bombarded, we should grab a bite to eat this week.” 

“Why?” 

Much like when Amir was told treehouse building wasn’t Liam’s only job, Zayn’s brow creases at the man’s response to his date request. “Why?” 

Liam nods, humoured by Zayn’s boldness, but not enough to give him any more clarification on his one worded question. 

“Um,” Zayn searches Liam’s brown eyes for some sort of hint to the answer he’s looking for. “I like what I see.” 

Again, Liam nods, staying quiet. 

Worried he was running out of chances, Zayn tries harder to come up with an adequate enough response for Liam to accept. “And...I want to know more about you other than what your favourite meats are.” 

By the way Liam smiles, Zayn thinks that he’s satisfied the other with his second reasoning. “Maybe I’ll let you take me out one day,” Liam says in a cunning tone. “But Amir and his treehouse were first.” He gives Zayn a onceover, “not you.” 

The gaze drives Zayn mad, hating how controlled Liam could be with his delivery, even though his eyes are telling Zayn that they’re both on the same page. “If you change your mind, you have my number,” he tries, hoping Liam would bite, even just a little. 

“I also know where you live, but I’m telling you now,” the contractor shakes his head. “I won’t be stopping by anytime this week.” 

“Next?” 

Biting back a smile, Liam merely holds his ground peacefully. “I’ll see you Saturday Zayn.” 

The second time his name’s said by the man is just as pleasing as the first, but Zayn’s stuck watching the other’s backside saunter away from where it once stood instead of letting him know. 

🎨🎨🎨🎨🎨 

Having the ability to spend weekdays with Amir had Zayn overjoyed. He knew that the older the boy got, the more occupied he’d become, whether it be with friends or homework. As of right now, Zayn made sure to take advantage of the time he saw him after school and on the weekends, before those too were taken from him. 

Even though the Malik’s spent a lot of time outside for the last week of Amir’s break, Zayn wouldn’t let the boy go up on the platform, no matter how much he begged. Zayn and heights didn’t mix, which, ironic as it may be considering how much he was going through in order to give his son the playhouse, meant that there was no way he was about to climb up the ladder and supervise the child without railing around the edges. Not in this lifetime. 

To fill the void, Amir stares at Zayn’s drawing of the treehouse, eager to see what was on the paper become a reality. 

When Saturday comes around, Liam shows up at his original time of eight. Thankfully he’s alone, and while Amir asks about Niall, Zayn’s not as considerate. He had nothing against the Irishman, but being able to give Liam the attention he wanted to had been difficult with someone else hovering around. 

The joke’s on Zayn however, because once he’s prepared the contractor his coffee, his plans on sparking up conversation are rejected. Apparently Liam’s “too energized by the start of another weekend” to do anything other than get a move on with his work. It leaves Zayn frustrated and Amir delighted. 

With a hop in his step, the little boy follows Liam outside to the storage room, staying at the entrance so as to not get yelled at by his Dad for getting in the builder’s way. 

A few meters inside the room, Liam starts up his iPad. Waiting for it to turn on, he notices that Amir’s carrying a small stuffed animal by its tail. “Who’ve you got there?” 

Amir looks down at where Liam’s pointed to his friend. “This is my meerkat.” He turns the toy right side up so it’s not hanging improperly and the man can get a good look at it. 

“Does he or she have a name?” Liam asks, giving the toy a few more seconds of consideration before turning back to his powered-on tablet. 

“No.” After shaking his head, Amir tosses the animal in the air now that Liam was on to his work. “He’s just meerkat.” 

“Is he your favourite animal?” 

“Yeah, because we’re called the same thing almost.” The little boy stops with his playing and watches Liam scrutinize the numbers on the screen in front of him. “You know how Baba calls me ‘mir for short sometimes?” 

Hearing the inquisition, Liam glances up from his excel sheet. A smile graces his lips when he puts the connection together. “‘Mir. Meer-kat. I like it.” The man takes a sip from the mug that he brought out with him. “Have you seen one in real life? 

“Loads!” Amir exclaims, gripping the animal tightly. “Every time we go to London, Baba takes me to the zoo so I can see them.” He shakes the toy in his right hand, “that’s where I got him.” 

Seeing how excited the child is at the topic, Liam keeps up with his questions. “Do you know a lot about them?” 

“Yeah,” Amir says like it’s an obvious thing that Liam should know. “Do you want me to tell you?” Once he gets the ok in the form of a nod, Amir starts to blurt out facts, the other male going back to checking his inventory with a warm grin while he does so. 

For the first time since Liam’s started working, Zayn doesn’t bother to tell Amir to stay out of his way. By now, the little boy has proven himself responsible enough not to need the stern warning, so instead of watching him when he practically magnets himself to Liam one step out the door, Zayn heads to his studio to grab a sketchbook and pencils. 

As he sets himself up on the patio like he did the Saturday prior, he can’t escape thinking about how he should probably be working on his painting of the woman instead of whatever freehand he was about to embark on. Unpredictable humidity levels and lighting sound like good choices to blame for not staying on task. Then there’s also the fact that Zayn’s just far too fascinated with Liam in his same blue jeans and new purple tee, to be bothered with having to concentrate on the important painting anyway. 

It isn’t that he hates working on what he’s paid to produce (he won’t agree to it if he does), it’s just that he loves the freedom he gets when he can grab hold and make something of the random flashes of inspiration that come to him. Like Liam. 

Zayn can’t help that the element of surprise that comes with not knowing what colour top the man will be wearing each time he shows up has him grabbing a lilac pencil to start with. 

His first few lines are done out of instinctual gesture since Zayn’s eyes are watching Liam and Amir trek back and forth from the storage room to the end of the yard. 

While the former’s busy carrying panels, the younger of the two seems to be lost on a tangent with the help of his meerkat. Sadly, he’s too far away for Zayn to make out what the story’s about. Once Liam makes his final pass, the artist can just barely hear Amir ask if he can help in one way or another, but to the child’s dismay, Liam doesn’t have anything to give him other than a promise that if Amir can be of any use, he’ll let him know. 

The truth doesn’t seem to dampen Amir’s spirits too much. Zayn catches him sulk for all of ten seconds before he enters the house and makes his way upstairs, reappearing next to his Dad with his Nintendo Switch. Instead of continuing with his etchings, Zayn watches the boy race cars around the screen, stopping when he glances up and sees Liam’s arms strain from the heaviness of hoisting a piece of wood onto his makeshift workbench to cut. From then on Zayn tries to busy himself with the pad of paper and pencils in front of him, but it’s hard to draw straight lines when the rest of his morning view consists of the man dangerously attaching freshly cut rail posts around the edges of the barren platform. 

In the back of his mind Zayn knows that Liam’s a professional, yet there’s still an off rhythm beating in his chest any time the constructor dangles himself over the edge of the open landing. All the close observation has Zayn noticing that today, the man in violet chose to work with headphones in. 

Once they come into view, Zayn wonders what sort of music might be playing from them. Liam’s kind smile makes him think it might be something calm - a singer -songwriter, heavy acoustic guitar sort of sound. Then again, with his fit build, Liam might go to the gym on top of working, so he could also have a rock streak to him that comes out when he needs to get pumped up. Zayn would be surprised if Liam listened to the same R&B as him, but it is possible. 

The second Amir ditches them after their lunch of a cheeseburger and huge plate of chips, Zayn’s about to end his guessing and ask Liam what’s been playing through his headphones, but first, it’s important for him to let the other male know that he was willing to help him out with bringing things up to the top of the platform if it would make the contractor's life easier. There’s not much else he can offer with useless hands like his, so Zayn’s hoping the extension is better than nothing. Although, with the way Liam briefly examines his upper arms, Zayn thinks that maybe he’s already been written him off as incapable. 

“It’d be nice to have help when I have to get the walls up,” Liam replies once he meets eyes with Zayn. 

Perhaps he’s not so inadequate after all. 

Before they ate, Zayn had noticed Liam start to put together square layouts on the ground. It made sense they were the walls. “Like I said, just let me know and I can help.” Swirling a chip into the leftover pool of ketchup he dished himself, Zayn moves on to what he really wants to know. “So, what do you listen to?” 

“Podcasts,” Liam replies after finishing up his latest bite of burger. 

Well that certainly wasn’t any of the educated guesses Zayn had made. “About?” 

“Everything.” Sensing a lengthy conversation coming, Liam starts to uncap his water bottle so he can wash out his mouth. “Comedy, food, construction, lifesty-“ 

“They have construction podcasts?” Zayn cuts him off, right eyebrow raised in incredulity. 

“Not many good ones,” Liam says honestly, “but yeah.” 

Rather than focus on the confusion fogging his brain at how someone in that industry could get _anything_ out of a podcast without accompanying visuals, Zayn asks the most obvious question. “What do they talk about?” 

The words prompt Liam to take his phone out of his pocket, using it to show Zayn what he’s been listening to instead of only giving him a verbal answer. 

Zayn takes the phone and stares at the man’s most recent downloaded episodes. 

**The Construction Management Project: Episode 6 - DIRT**

_Wow_. 

**Construction Genius: What Navy SEALS can teach Construction Leaders About Failure, Responsibility, and Recovery**

Better. 

**143\. Quompounds?**

To say Zayn was surprised that a single construction podcast could have that many episodes, would be an understatement. There’s a small preview that can be seen under the title: 

**On this episode of The Art of Construction, we’re speaking with architect Richard Hangel. His firm, [Hangel Architects]...**

The name of the podcast piques Zayn’s interest. He wonders if it’s just a play on words, or if actual art is involved. 

“Do they talk about real art?” 

“Construction is real art,” Liam counters hastily with a neutral expression that tells Zayn he’s not offended, simply defending his career. “Maybe not the kind you do,” he nods to the abandoned notebook set off to the side, “but it’s a type.” When Zayn hands him back his phone, Liam sees what episode he was referring to. “On that one the guest talked about building a unique vacation home near the Grand Canyon and the weirdness of having to build something without a single client in mind. It’s interesting. Makes me think.” He tilts his head toward Zayn when he asks, “Do you ever draw houses or buildings?” 

“Not usually, no,” the older man denies nonchalantly as he picks out his next chip. 

“You’d be good at it.” Before Zayn can reply to his compliment, Liam continues. “From what I saw last week when you put my blueprint together, you’d make a nice architect.” 

Zayn’s been getting praise for his artistic abilities since he could hold a pen, but this is the first time he’s ever been told he should design structures. “Thanks. For now, I think I’ll stick to the general _‘artist’_ title.” 

Having finally been given the answer as to what Zayn does for a living doesn’t seem to appease Liam’s curiosity, only feeds its fire. “So, you do more than just draw?” 

“I dabble in sculpting here and there as a side hobby,” Zayn divulges, turning his shoulders to openly face Liam. “My main focus is on canvas work - with oils, spray paint, acrylic, whatever I want. I’m lucky, living in a tech age like today. I got my big break online. Turned my personal Instagram into my art page when people wanted to see more of my things, which then forced me to make a website,” he draws out in a bored tone, hating the logistics behind his job. “And people buy things from there.” 

Liam’s eyes shine in interest. “Can I see?” They keep their intensity, but widen when Zayn pulls up ‘zaynmalikart’ on the phone he’s stolen back from the man. “Whoa, these are insane! You use so much colour…” 

Holding himself back from chuckling at Liam’s enthusiasm, Zayn watches as the other scrolls through his page that’s full of various pieces bright with every shade of colour possible. “Most of the time. Sometimes I work with charcoal or just regular light graphite pencils.” Things feel one sided when he sees Liam hit the ‘follow’ button. “Do you have an account?” 

“Yeah, but it’s not for my work, just personal.” Liam motions for Zayn to switch and give him _his_ phone. “I have a website in the works for the company, but I know I’m going to have to get socials too.” 

“That’s what Niall’s for.” 

“Exactly.” Finding his handle, Liam automatically hits ‘follow’. “There.” He slants the phone so Zayn can see what he’s done, angling it back so he can stare at the screen and the photos it’s displaying. “I’d tell you to start a personal account again so I can see more of _you_, but I think the real thing’s better.” 

Zayn’s at a loss for words, just like how he was when Liam had made the assumption that he’d want to follow him. It was a pretty safe bet to make given the small advances he’d made so far, which was why he stayed quiet, but still. It seems his remarks did their job of edging Zayn into Liam’s mind slowly, but surely. 

“So did you go to school for this?” 

The melodic tone takes Zayn out of his thoughts. “Nope, self taught. Like you.” 

“Nothing?” Liam raises his line of sight to take in Zayn’s casual demeanor. “I at least learned from experience with my Dad and apprenticeships.” 

All Zayn has to say is ‘I took a few courses outside of school when I was younger’ and Liam would probably be appeased, but for some reason he feels like he’d be cheating the man out of the whole story. He doesn’t even know this guy, which is why Zayn’s so surprised at himself for even considering letting him on something so personal. If he plans on just hooking up with him - _eventually_, since the game Liam’s playing has made it clear that it won’t be any time soon - then the worker definitely doesn’t _need_ to know his story. Yet, the reason Zayn trusts Liam to be a good candidate for spending the night in the first place is because he comes off as a genuinely nice guy, so maybe it won’t hurt to fill him in on how he got to where he is and how he can afford to pay him 20k for a treehouse at the age of twenty six. It’s not as if he’s afraid he’ll break down in the middle of it, he’s far over that being a concern, it’s just that no matter how many years have past, it’s still a sensitive subject. 

“When I was fifteen I went to this summer art course in Nottingham.” He takes a step back to give the story a bit of context before diving right in. “I was born and raised in Bradford. My parents didn’t have a lot of money, but they saw the talent in me before I saw it in myself. For my fifteenth birthday a bunch of my family pooled together money as a gift to send me to the uni’s Art and Design course that summer. It was only for 15-17 year olds, but the fifteen year olds couldn’t get accommodation, so my Mum had to drive me the hour and a half ride there in the morning and back everyday. She’s amazing,” Zayn thought out loud, getting sidetracked for a moment on just _how_ amazing the woman was to have subjected herself to such rides back then out of sheer belief in her son. “Anyway, it was a week course to help you work with dimensions better and put together a portfolio for further studies. I didn’t really know if I was going to go to uni or not, so I mostly just worked on my technique. It was where I met Amir’s Mum.” 

Zayn’s pause makes Liam think he’s pushed too far. “You don’t have to tell the story if it’s too much.” He sees the older male look at him with confusion as to how Liam knows where this is going. “He told me about the star in the sky thing.” 

The brief explanation clears things up for Zayn, but it does make him wonder if that was what the little boy was going on about this morning. “It’s ok. I was just thinking about how long ago that was.” He takes a deep breath to prepare himself before continuing. “I’ve always naturally been a more quiet type, so I didn’t talk to any of the others in class all that much. Because of my personality, but also because I was intent on making the most of the course. My family spent a lot on it; I wasn’t about to let that go to waste. And it was that price for a reason, so I’d be an idiot not to take advantage and learn what I could from those instructors. My GCSE Art teacher could only help me so much, you know?” 

It’s a rhetorical question, Zayn too lost in his own world observing Amir kick around his football from afar to acknowledge the man next to him even if he did respond. “She was gorgeous,” he says distantly of the boy’s Mum, “even at that age. Dark brown eyes, kind of like yours.” Liam smiles solemnly at the compliment. “Really curly hair, slim figure, but not too small. The most contagious laugh, I remember that, even still.” For a moment he lets himself get caught up in a past memory before realizing now wasn’t the time. “I couldn’t stop staring at her during lessons and like, I was so out of place - just some poor kid from the North who didn’t know a soul and didn’t have the time to _get to know_ any because Mum had to drive us back as soon as the class let out at four to make it home in time to have dinner ready for when my Dad got off work.” 

Zayn takes another short pause before getting on with his recounting, “I remember, it was the second day - Tuesday. She came over to me a little before lunch while we were meant to be working on our pieces. Pretty sure it was because she caught me staring for the hundredth time.” He shakes his head humourously, “I was so worried she was going to call me a creep or tell me to knock it off, but she pretty much did the opposite - introduced herself and asked to see what I was working on. It was a sketch of my tangled up iPod headphones. Remember iPod’s?” 

This time Zayn’s question is real, causing Liam to nod when he realizes this, too somber knowing that this story wouldn’t have a happy ending to say anything out loud. 

“She loved it, asked if she could have it once I was done. Went and invited me to sit with her and her friends for lunch too. I was the most awkward thing ever eating with them. I’m not sure how obvious it was that I felt uncomfortable being the outlier in an already established group, but she picked up on it and asked me to hang out after class, so it could be just the two of us. Couldn’t though, drive home and all that, so instead, she just gave me her number and told me to text her so the drive wasn’t so boring. 

“Then, and even now, I don’t know how I got so lucky meeting someone like her. Someone who saw behind the shy me before I let them.” In his pocket, Zayn’s fingers run around the edges of the seams. “We texted all night, then sat together the next day during class. The rest of the week she essentially ditched her friends for me. Don’t know if it was because she liked me _that_ much or if it was because there was only three days left of the course and she could see her friends whenever she wanted. I never did figure that out.” A small shrug follows. “Had to have liked me to some degree though, we kept texting non stop after the course ended. We’d Skype and call when we weren’t busy with other friends or revising, but by winter we both knew we wanted to go to another art course the following summer. When I told my parents, they were all for it and the family did the same thing as the year before with my birthday present. 

“Ava wanted to go away though. She didn’t want to do the same course in her hometown, so we found one for two weeks at the University of Arts in London. Waaaay more expensive, that,” Zayn chuckles. “Her parents were well off, but I had to get a part time job at the coffee shop down the street from my place to pay for what my family couldn’t.” He thinks back to the cozy shop and all the hours he spent there after school saving up. “It was worth it, just to see her again and to get more proper training. 

“Eventually I got enough to pay for the accommodation and we went. I’d been to London before, but those two weeks were the best of my life. Being there alone, it’s different. It’s like your first real taste of freedom - London at sixteen is.” Liam barely nods, as a way to show he resonated with what Zayn was explaining. “We learned more and stayed up way too late in each other’s rooms just talking like we always did, but in person instead of through screens. We just got each other, I don’t know how to explain it.” 

Zayn turns to the man next to him for a second, just to make sure that Liam’s still following along, moving on when sees he’s got over 100% of his attention. 

“We went back to our cities afterwards and did the same thing for another year, except we did a Fine Arts course instead of Art and Design when we went back the next summer. 

“After that, it was our last year of A Levels and she was working really hard to get into uni. I decided I wasn’t going to go, but I still tried to do well on the exams. Make my parents proud and all that. 

“She got into Sheffield for Education - wanted to teach art, not just make it. When she moved here, the train ticket for me to visit was doable, so I did, every bank holiday weekend. 

“We hadn’t really been anything other than friends up until then, just because it was sort of this unspoken conversation that a long distance commitment any younger than that wouldn’t have been good for either of us. And I sort of saw people here and there during those years too,” Zayn confesses, “but I never took any of them seriously. There was just something in me that knew to wait on her. So I did, and when she finished that first year and had to move out of the halls, she asked me to get an apartment with her off campus, strings attached.” 

Rather than laugh at how ridiculous he was going to sound, Zayn keeps his nostalgic tone when he says, “Took me a whole six months after that to ask her to marry me. My shitty cafe job that I got when I moved here allowed me to buy her the smallest diamond money could buy, but she loved it. So much, that we eloped. Went to Paris on the Eurorail and did it the week after.” Now he shows a small smile. “Her parents weren’t too happy with me after that. Even though it was _her_ idea,” he jokes, remembering the argument he had had with her over the location. “I thought it was way too cliche, and regardless of whether or not I had asked their permission beforehand, her Mum and Dad still weren’t all that thrilled when we showed up to their place at Christmas with rings on. Got over it pretty quickly after finding out we were expecting though.” Zayn brings his head closer to the other man’s when he speaks, even though there’s no way the five year old can hear them from where he’s running around in the middle of the yard. “Don’t tell Amir he was conceived in another country, otherwise he’ll _really_ run with the special royalty thing.” 

Liam’s smile sits heavy on his lips, “Promise.” 

“So yeah,” Zayn exhales, leaning back in his seat. “Ava finished up her second year of school, and I kicked my ass into gear to get some of my pieces sold before he was born. The August due date was perfect though. She could take the first month to be with him and then go back for her last year at uni, while I stayed at home during the week and worked on the weekends. 

“The separation was hard at first, but she was only in class for a few hours a day, so it wasn’t bad. We always wanted a big family too, so it was great, but the sleep…” He throws his head back dramatically, “God, sleeping was a nightmare. I got whatever I could get done when he slept, Ava too with her revision, but there’s a difference between planning a dissertation and painting, so I told her to go out and have fun one night. She deserved a night off even if I did a majority of the parenting duties during the day when I wasn’t at the cafe.” 

There aren’t any tears in Zayn’s eyes, but that doesn’t discount how hard it is to say the next part out loud. He hasn’t had to explain it to anyone with this much detail in a long time, so he’s selfish with the time he needs before letting his brain go on autopilot to tell the rest. 

“Her and a few of her mates went to a concert. Right after she dropped off the last person, a drunk lorry driver hit her head on. Doctors told me she passed instantly, so that’s the only real peace I’ve had from it all - knowing she didn’t have to feel any pain.” 

Zayn clenches his jaw to keep himself composed when he’s remembering getting the call to rush to the hospital, sprinting into the A&E with a three month old Amir in his car seat, only to collapse on the floor when he was given the news. Sobbing for what seemed like hours on the cold tile as he built the image of what the crash would’ve looked like from the passenger's seat and wishing it was him, not her. Anyone but her. 

“The guy died too,” he adds. 

And Zayn’s glad, because if he knew that the person responsible for taking the love of his life and child’s mum away was walking around somewhere, he’d lose it. 

“Still, he was on ASDA’s clock, so to keep their name out of the paper too much with a lawsuit, they offered me a settlement. No amount of money could bring her back, or the driver for that matter, but I still took it. Seven figures let me quit my job and take care of Amir without having to worry about the bills.” 

_Or taking my time to grieve_, Zayn thinks to himself. 

“Got me this house and your paycheck.” 

Liam waits for a significant amount of time, presumably to see if Zayn’s got any more to add before he speaks. “Amir said she got the treehouse for him…” 

The artist nods, “We talked about having kids, just not as young as we did, and then as soon as we found out she was pregnant, we started discussing the specifics. Realistic stuff, like how we were going to make it work, and then dreams we had for our family. Most of them came from me,” he admits calmly. “She never had a spoiled attitude, but she definitely had a different upbringing than I did. 

“I grew up in rented homes my whole life. They didn’t, but even if they did have back gardens, we wouldn’t have been able to build anything in it like I wanted to. She never had that desire when she was younger, but she saw how important it was for me to give my kids a better life than the one I had.” 

“And that includes giving them a treehouse,” Liam thinks out loud in a wistful tone. 

“Yeah.” Amir makes a goal that Zayn gives a thumbs up to when the boy looks to see if his Dad was watching. “He knows she’s passed, but I’m sticking with the gifts - birthday, Christmas, Mother’s Day, Ramadan - from her until he gets old enough to not want them anymore.” 

Turning his head to the left, Liam waits for Zayn to realize he’s staring at him before saying what he’s thinking. “I think you doing that is really noble.” 

If he doesn’t hold himself back, Zayn could really let himself get choked up at the sincere words being tacked on to his retelling. Instead, he bows his head in humility, “thanks. It makes the early years a little easier for the both of us.” 

“So you _did_ have professional training,” Liam teases, trying to bring it around full circle to get the Father of one to smile. 

“That’s all you wanted to know.” Zayn’s laugh turns out to be what makes _Liam_ grin. “And instead, you got a rundown of the past eleven years of my life.” 

“You’re a good story teller,” the man admits openly. “I liked hearing about it.” He shakes his head quickly, “not the outcome of course, but the journey as a whole.” 

By the way Liam keeps talking and asks, “people pay for whatever you make then?”, Zayn can tell that it’s become obvious he’s shrunken in on himself now that the story’s over. 

“Sometimes I get commissioners,” he replies, rubbing a hand over his face. “The piece I’m working on now is for a dancer.” 

“Who likes motorcycles?” 

Following Liam’s gaze, he’s met with that day’s sketch. “No, that’s just a mindless thing that I started when I came out this morning.” 

“It’s brilliant for being ‘mindless’,” the man commends, taking it upon himself to clean up his table setting when all he gets from Zayn in return is a minimal “thanks”. “Well I should get back to work.” He points to the plastic plates in front of them, “I’ll pay you for this before I leave.” 

“Don’t you know it comes with the coffee?” Zayn asks with as much charm as he can muster up in his current downtrodden mood. It’s a shame that the meal took such a turn; the concept of Liam getting himself into debt with Zayn was a lot to work with. 

The contractor checks his phone to make sure that he doesn’t have any messages, glancing back at Zayn once he’s slipping the mobile into his jeans pocket. “Coffee with a side of lunch?” 

“Yeah,” Zayn confirms, a smirk wanting to make its way onto his lips, but not being able to do so. “You must not have read the fine print.” 

“Guess not.” 

When Liam gets up and leaves with mildly amused facial features, Zayn’s left with the remnants of their meal and a heavy heart. The feeling remains long after, leaving Zayn to hold off on flirting for the rest of the day, too stuck on the vivid memory of his late wife to even consider turning on his charisma in hopes to win Liam over. 

Some time in the late afternoon, he starts to draw a headphone cord around the edge of the motorcycle. Thankfully Amir halts that process when he comes to bother him, a small tiger puzzle in his hands and an optimistic expression that his Dad will join in. 

The innocence reminds Zayn that Amir, his new best friend in life, would always be there to brighten his days, no matter if his laughter when Zayn tickles him sounds identical to his Mother’s or not. 

⚒⚒⚒⚒⚒ 

From where he’s organizing canvas’ in his front room studio, Zayn can see Amir standing on his tiptoes to see out the window that faces the street and front driveway. If it weren’t for Liam’s impeccable punctuality, he wouldn’t let the boy strain himself trying to get a glimpse of the contractor pull up. 

There was a moment the night before when Zayn had almost asked Amir what it was that he told Liam about his Mother, but as he finished their reading for the night, he realized that he was more proud of his son for being so open with whatever portion of the story he relayed, to care what he actually said to the male. 

He wasn’t out of the emotional clear that easy however. Zayn had an exceptionally hard time going to sleep afterwards. Missing his wife this much since she passed was a weird phenomenon to him. It’d been over five years since her passing, and while he would always long for her, he hadn’t felt this overwhelmed by the sensation in years. The only explanation he could come up with was a mixture of having to retell their story to someone new, and the building of the treehouse itself. Deep down, Zayn knows he’ll never truly get over her death, but when his therapist (that his mother insisted he go to when she saw that he wasn’t taking enough time for himself to grieve properly) brought it to his attention that he had stopped talking about Ava during their sessions and started talking about the future, he was able to come to terms with the fact that he was capable of moving forward. 

That had been about two years after his wife's death. Now, Zayn can tell that he’s still making progress by the way he can focus on Liam’s lopsided grin that comes from the coffee Zayn’s handed over that morning without finding the need to try and compare him to the dashing woman that he once planned on growing old with. 

“Did you drink your milk this morning?” 

Liam’s question has Zayn squinting at him in hesitation. “I had orange juice. Why?” 

“I’m gonna need your help,” the man vaguely explains, holding the mug with both hands to let the heat transfer to his skin. 

Zayn was serious about helping Liam when he put the offer on the table, but now that it’s actually happening, he’s starting to wonder what it was he signed himself up for. Regardless of the worry that’s seeping in, he still replies confidently. “I’m at your mercy.” 

There’s no comment on the innuendo coming from Liam, he only eyes the other knowingly. “You’ll be saving me a lot of trouble handing me up the walls.” 

Zayn’s reminded of how Liam had gone past his usual ten hour shift the day before to push himself and finish the wall foundations. Peering outside to where the man had left the frameworks leaned up against one of the trees, Zayn can feel his arms ache already. Fuck they looked heavy. “Looks easy enough,” he lies, turning back to see Liam giving him a humored expression at Zayn’s insistence. 

It stays on the male’s face all the way through the assistance too, an added smirk finding its way onto Liam’s lips when Zayn’s doing his best to use his legs - not his back like Liam had instructed - to lift the last wall high enough for the builder to grab hold of and yank up the rest of the way. 

Staring at Liam handling the wood barehanded, Zayn can now see how his hands have gotten so coarse. Upon Liam’s insistence, Zayn was wearing the yellow gloves that the male normally sported, so he can’t say from experience, but he can imagine that a single day working without the protective material would be enough to break in the skin. _Years_ on the job makes Zayn believe that Liam’s hands are most likely just permanently like that now. As he continues to observe the man organize the four wall fixtures from below, he bites his lip at what the textured fingertips would feel like against his smooth skin. 

“You gonna come up?” Liam calls down when he’s made sure everything’s in the order that he wants them to be in. 

Zayn’s lip bite turns into one of uneasiness rather than want. “Do you need me to?” 

“No, that was it.” Leaning on the tree trunk closest to him, Liam crosses his arms. “I just thought you might want to.” 

With Amir more engaged in a morning cartoon than the treehouse today, there doesn't seem to be a convincing enough reason for Zayn to make the climb. “Nah, I’m good down here,” he replies placidly, taking a few steps back so he can get a better look at the man he’s speaking to. 

Liam frowns, “You’re never going to join him? 

“I will, just not until you attach the rest of the rails.” Zayn’s words are rushed, eager to let the other know that he plans on appreciating Liam’s work eventually, just not any time soon; no need to scowl. “Not about to give myself a heart attack this young. I would’ve eaten a lot more red meat in my life if I knew that would wind up being my fate.” 

“Got at least another two weeks before that,” Liam informs him, uncrossing his arms to pull out his earphones that are tangled in his pockets. 

“I’m patient.” 

The contractor raises his eyebrows at Zayn’s calm words, “Really?” 

“When I want to be, yeah.” Based on his blunt overtures, Zayn can see how it might not seem that way, but it’s true. 

“If you say so.” Black cord now unknotted, Liam sticks the buds into his ears, leaving Zayn to assume that he wants to be alone to listen to whatever podcast’s next on his list and focus on being productive. 

Really, Zayn should take a page from his book and go back to working on his painting since he’d hardly gotten any closer to finishing it during the week being preoccupied with making the most of his time with Amir on break. Yesterday wasn’t any better, getting lost in a sea of purple, but when Zayn reaches for the yellow paint that matches Liam’s shirt for the day and the gloves that he’s putting back on, the artist guesses that all the signs point to his mind not being ready to go back to his real work. And as a creative, who is he to challenge that? 

As the sun rises higher in the sky and Zayn’s off-white page takes on a much brighter appearance, the man can’t help but notice how quickly Liam’s hands work. He supposes they’re alike in that way - both being able to just _work_ without any laid out instructions or plans. Although in Zayn’s case, sometimes he doesn’t know what the final image may end up looking like, and Liam _does_ have his blueprints to go by as reference, the both of them still have the ability to create something from nothing. If it weren’t for his shirt lifting up to give Zayn a peak at his six pack, that type of intelligence would be enough for the painter to be attracted to him. It does make Zayn wonder how he got that way however, so when they get their alone time after a lunch of spicy chicken sandwiches, he makes sure to get an answer. 

“You make building look easy.” Zayn lifts his can of Coke to his lips. “I didn’t expect you to put up the walls so fast.” 

At the mention of his progress, Liam looks away from his nearly empty plate to the end of the yard where the walls Zayn helped bring up were now secured to the foundation. “It’s all about preparation,” Liam starts. “Putting together the skeletons of the walls on the ground makes it so that all I have to do when I get on top is fasten them to the platform. Piecing them together up there would’ve been a nightmare. Going up and down if I needed to shave a piece or bringing the larger hand saws up there,” he shakes his head, “not safe, nor practical. You can’t do it all on the ground though. Put the windows in beforehand and it would’ve added unnecessary weight. Fitting them doesn’t take much, and it’s actually easier to do with the wall vertical rather than horizontal.” 

Thank god for Liam’s easy enough explanation. Any minor jargon and Zayn would’ve been lost in half a second. “Is that Building 101 or did you learn from trial and error?” He hopes Liam will take the hint that Zayn wants the ask to be _his_ version of a small question that Liam can extrapolate on like Zayn had during their lunch conversation the day before. 

“Is it fair if I say a bit of both?” 

Unbothered, Zayn shrugs, “You already know I’m not going to be able to tell the difference.” 

“Me Dad works at an airplane factory.” 

_Building runs in the family then_, Zayn thinks. 

“So growing up, I’d take what I could from watching him when I’d visit, and apply it to whatever wood based project I was working on at home.” 

Zayn wants more than just the simple answer that’s been given. “You just liked working with your hands?” 

“Massively,” Liam grins at him. “I’m not half bad at maths either, so put the two together and I knew early on that this was what I wanted to do.” 

Zayn frowns in disgust. Maths was his worst nightmare. “What was the first thing you made?” 

“A birdhouse.” The artist nearly snorts. “It came in a pre-made kit, but I didn’t even look at the instructions.” 

“How old were you?” 

“Eight,” Liam responds with a twinkle in his eye at the memory. “My parents wouldn’t let me touch a hammer before then.” 

Zayn doesn’t blame them. He wonders if _he’d_ let Amir toy around with something like that so young. “And after that?” 

“Anything and everything.” Exhaling loudly, Liam finally gets to what Zayn’s been curious about. “The internet wasn’t huge for learning material yet, so I mostly just had my Dad teach me what he knew. 

“When I was a teenager, on the weekends I’d visit scrap yards to get cheap materials and make whatever I thought up. Did one of my A-Levels in Design and Technology, but it was only product design. Which was cool,” he adds, grateful. “I got to learn how to bring ideas to life, just not things other than furniture mostly. On the weekends and during breaks I could make real shit.” 

Hearing the man swear has Zayn’s lips twisting upwards in rapture. 

“One Saturday I went into the yard for something or other, and came out with a renovation job that lasted a few months. The owner had known me by name at that point and told me about another one of his regulars needing an extra hand on a fixer upper he just bought. Things never really stopped after that.” Liam pops the last of his sandwich into his mouth, continuing on once he’s swallowed. “Got the job at B&Q just to have a steadier income in between projects. Met Niall a few years later when he got a part time job in my department while he went to uni and as soon as he finished school, I told him about my wanting to start up my own business. It’s been getting the capital ever since.” He leans back in his chair, “Reckon I’ll have enough saved by the end of the year to start the process.” 

Even though he had one of his own, Zayn has no idea how much Liam must have had to save to start a business that seemed quite capital heavy. Close to six figures, surely. “What you’ve done so far here, and what I saw in the pictures tells me it’ll have been worth it.” 

“If I’m still in business after five years, then you can say that. Until then,” Liam holds up his pointer and index finger, one on top of the other. “I’m just crossing my fingers it’s the truth.” 

“I make a comfortable living selling people pictures,” Zayn justifies. “You definitely will making them things that they’ll actually use.” 

The assurance makes the other enter a war of compliments. “Households need art on the walls,” he counters. 

“See?” Zayn’s expression turns objective, determined almost to get Liam to understand that the area he’s made his life’s purpose in has a critical demand. “Your creations are even important to mine. You’ve gotta build them so I can put food on the table.” 

Realistically Zayn knows every industry is a competitive one, he’s not daft, but playing around with the man is too good of an opportunity to pass up. 

“Well I don’t see you working on your dancer painting,” Liam flirts back, eyes looking around for any evidence that his statement can be disproven. “So you’re to blame for that.” 

“I don’t work on the weekends,” Zayn disputes lightly, not wanting Liam to know that that’s a lie and _he’s_ the real reason why Zayn can’t seem to do anything other than play, not make money. Likewise, he doesn’t need to be let in on how amazing the freeing emotion has felt the past couple of weeks. 

“And I don’t suppose you’re going to let me pay for this either?” 

Zayn’s eyes automatically look to where Liam’s nodding to their styrofoam takeaway containers. “Comes with the coffee remember?” 

“I know,” the man smiles sagely. “I just thought I’d try, considering you’re going on about putting food on the table. Paying for my meals doesn’t help with that.” 

Now Liam’s just being difficult. “Neither does you paying for them, help you save for your business.” That seemed to be enough to shut the male up. 

“As always,” Liam says with an appreciative expression. “Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome,” Zayn nods graciously. 

Thus ends their lunch chatter - something that’s becoming a staple to Zayn’s weekends. 

After Liam goes back to work and Zayn’s done throwing out their rubbish, the latter grabs his sketchbook and flips over the yellow portrait of the sun to a fresh page. Instead of consciously devising a new idea, he lets his right hand draw what _it _wants, which, two hours in, starts to look a whole lot like a portrait of the man sizing rafters atop his metal ladder. 

A considerable amount covers the page too, which Zayn contributes to Amir being as easy of a kid as he was and knowing how to preoccupy himself whenever he saw his 

Baba was busy. The talent was a good one to have with a parent who worked from home, but initially, Zayn was worried that Amir’s growing up as an only child would stunt his ability to socialize with others his age. Hearing from the boy’s teachers that that wasn’t the case, Amir easily made friends in class, had Zayn letting out a sigh of relief when he first started Reception. 

Adults were never of concern to Zayn, as proven by the way Amir stops kicking around his football in order to make conversation with Liam when the man comes down from the top platform to attach the boards that will be for the front rope ladder. Or so Zayn guesses; it’s hard to envision without the ropes woven into it yet. 

Looking at his watch, he can tell that it’s probably the last thing Liam will work on for the day. 

“You sure you don’t want to go out?” Zayn asks when his guess is correct and Liam’s putting away his tools after finishing up the ladder’s edges quickly. 

The male smirks at Zayn’s figure leaned up against the storage room’s door. “I already told you, the treehouse is first priority. There’s no room in there for going to pubs.” 

Zayn doesn’t falter at the dismissal, “I don’t drink.” Maybe a different approach will work. “What about coffee?” 

“Tell you what,” Liam replies fondly when he sees the other’s persistence won’t let up. “Niall does this open mic thing a couple times a month. There’s one on Wednesday.” He turns back to the coiled up extension cord on the ground, lifting it up and setting it on the shelf in front of him. “Why don’t you and Amir come?” 

That’s not what Zayn meant, but it’s a step in a direction that’s not backwards, so he nods. “He goes back to school tomorrow, so as long as he gets to bed before 8:30, we’ll be there.” 

“It’s at seven,” Liam provides as he moves on to stacking the wooden planks that have fallen during his daily comings and goings. “So that shouldn’t be a problem. I’ll text you the address.” 

“Deal.” 

Even though Liam doesn’t look his way to acknowledge that he’s heard him, Zayn pushes off the door frame to go play goalie for Amir anyway before he has to go make them dinner, a victorious smile playing on his thin lips. 

🌳🌳🌳🌳🌳 

Zayn has his phone out to check the addresses of the storefronts he and Amir are walking past, but he suddenly stops once he hears the sound of music escape into the street from a store door being opened halfway down the block. 

The two walk into the cafe a few minutes before seven, the woman whose voice had alerted Zayn of the place’s location still coming from the small stage at the back of the coffee shop. Zayn knew of the place in the center of town, but he wasn’t aware that they had open mics, though he might be the only one in the whole of Sheffield who didn’t know considering how packed the room was. If he asked Harry, the man would probably tell him that it’s been going on for years, that him being out of the loop is what he gets for not going out much past dinner. Unfortunately Zayn wouldn’t be able to fight him on that either. Even his community art club on Mondays was in the mornings. 

Once he told Amir about the show during dinner on Sunday, it was all the little boy could talk about for the next three days, although Zayn couldn’t tell if it was because of the excitement over getting to hear live music or the promise of seeing Niall again to bug him about his accent more. There’s no doubt in Zayn’s mind that it’s the second of the two with how widely Amir smiles when he spots the musician with his guitar sitting next to Liam at one of the tables near the left of the stage. 

The men haven’t seen them yet, but Zayn knows it won’t take long for that to change with Amir leading the way, a death grip around his meerkat that Zayn couldn’t persuade him to leave at home. 

Liam’s talking to Niall as he claps for the girl who’s just finished her set, but stops as soon as the boy appears in front of him. “Look who it is!” His eyebrows shoot up in animation. “‘Mir and ‘meer’.” 

“And Baba,” Amir points out notably. 

The reminder has Liam smiling up at Zayn in a peaceful greeting, “And Baba.” 

Zayn hopes he’s smiling back normally because he certainly doesn’t feel like he is with the way his mind’s going into overdrive at how the man in front of him looks outside of his normal contractor attire, never mind his pronunciation of the foreign word. 

Liam’s wearing a black jumper that looks like it’s as soft as it would be straight out of the dryer. Grey jeans stick to his legs in the way fitted trousers should, not like how Liam’s normal work jeans, baggy and stretched out, hide his silhouette. The final nail in the coffin is the pair of Nike trainers that are straight out of one of Zayn’s lucid dreams - bright pink canvassing the front half, black and white arrow designs covering the other, and a high ankle in cobalt blue. And if that wasn’t enough, there was also a thin stripe of neon yellow around the laces. 

“They’re cool, huh?” 

Zayn’s eyes find Liam’s immediately once he’s been caught staring. “Yeah,” he agrees breathlessly. “Sick.” 

To say the least. The shoes contained the kind of bright colours that Zayn adored and revolves his life’s work around. Sick didn’t even begin to describe what he thought of Liam’s choice of footwear. 

Amir breaks the awkward pause with a chirpy, “Hi Mr. Niall.” 

“Mister?” Being addressed in a way that ages him, forces Niall into an expression of mock defensiveness. “You can just call me Niall,” he instructs Amir. “It’s alright.” 

Playful mischief finds its way into the younger Malik’s eyes. “You can just call me Niall, it’s alright,” Amir repeats in his best (or sarcastically worst, Zayn’s not sure if the five year old’s got that mature of a sense of humour yet) Irish accent. 

“Ok,” Zayn interjects quickly, “we’re good on the accent thing.” He looks to the man being mimicked with an apologetic gaze, “Sorry.” 

Without a problem, Niall accepts the apology, “Don’t worry about it.” His attention steers away from Zayn to his smaller counterpart, who’s admiring the guitar stood up between Niall’s legs. 

“I see you already got your coffee,” Zayn motions to the paper cup in Liam’s right hand. 

Looking down at the sand coloured drink, Liam doesn’t take any time figuring out what to say in return. “You specifically said you’ve only got my weekend brews.” 

“I want coffee,” Amir pleads softly. 

Zayn’s brow creases as he continues to stare at Liam, “I never used the word ‘only’.” 

“Baba, can I get coffee?” 

“If you waited,” Zayn continues in a sultry tone, confidence turned all the way up, “you would’ve known that.” 

“Baba…” 

“No.” Tearing his eyes away from Liam’s, Zayn finally appeals to his son. “You can get decaf tea. No coffee.” 

Before he guides Amir up to the counter to check out the limited selection he’s made available to the boy, Zayn looks back at Liam, who’s taking a drink from his cup. In Zayn’s mind it’s done purposefully to avoid giving away his reaction to the artist’s scolding, but Zayn walks off towards the line to order instead of forcing the male to respond by waiting. 

Lifting Amir up in his arms, Zayn lets the boy _see_ the cakes and scones on display when they get to the counter. They had gone out to dinner prior to arriving, which was a treat in itself since Zayn made sure to cook them relatively healthy meals on weekdays; there was no way he was going to allow the child dessert after a greasy meal, even if the cafe _did_ have a dairy-free option. 

Father and son both come back with a cup of chamomile each, Zayn sitting down in the chair next to Liam and opening his arms so that his lap could act as Amir’s seat. 

“How many songs are you gonna sing?” Zayn asks Niall once the boy’s gotten himself settled. 

The musician looks up from his phone, “Five.” 

A fifteen minute set? Zayn’s impressed for an open mic. “Are they yours or covers?” 

“Three are mine,” Niall replies before finishing up what he was typing. “Two are covers.” 

“You assemble things, know how to make a profit, write songs, _and_ sing them.” Zayn’s metaphorically at a loss for words. He can’t imagine how many other things he didn’t know about the male could be added to the list. “What _can’t_ you do?” 

“Same with Liam.” 

Niall’s nonchalant comment has Zayn incredibly confused. “What do you mean?” 

“You didn’t tell him?” 

Now Zayn _literally_ doesn’t know what to say, looking between the fit man sitting to his left and the other male just beyond him with an expression he’s sure reads: ‘I don’t think so. What am I missing?’ 

“Liam sings too,” Niall pieces together for Zayn. 

“Come again?” Zayn’s squints at the named man with intensity. 

Seeing that his best friend hasn’t disclosed his talents to the painter, Niall shuts up and diverts his eyes down to his phone once more. 

“Sometimes.” Surprisingly to Zayn, Liam doesn’t sound, nor seem, intimidated into guilt from his shock-induced glare. “Not always.” 

“Is tonight one of those nights?” If Zayn was to find out that Niall wasn’t the only one about to get on stage that night, he would have to seriously reevaluate what sort of game Liam was playing. 

“I sure hope so,” Niall leans up in his seat to pull a pick out of his pocket, “because if not, I don’t have a lot of time to think up a replacement song.” 

From the elevated platform in front of them, the host for the night calls Niall name, eliciting a small roar of applause. 

It’s too awkward for Zayn to clap with Amir in his lap, so he lets his son do so for the both of them. “Why didn’t you tell me you sang?” He directs to Liam, hazel eyes searching dark brown for some sort of reasonable answer. 

Liam’s sight is focused on Niall plugging in his guitar and settling into the limelight. “Didn’t want that to sway you into coming.” 

_Any more than your presence already did_, Zayn thinks, more than annoyed that Liam’s known for him for such a short period of time, yet the man has already figured out what parts of himself played in his favour when it came to Zayn. Which, in the moment, includes forcing the artist to stare at his pronounced jaw covered in a light stubble rather than the barely there freckles that fell under his right side temple Zayn would’ve been faced with if he looked at him directly. 

“How’s it going?” 

Zayn continues to study Liam for a few more seconds before he gives Niall the attention he deserves. 

“My name’s Niall and I’ve got a few songs to play for you all tonight. This first one’s an original of mine called Slow Hands.” 

Right off the bat, Zayn’s impressed. The fact that he’s come to an open mic at a cafe already had him aware that the rhythmic, heavy bass that carried the type of music he normally listens to wouldn’t be present, but that doesn’t mean he can’t tell when someone’s good outside of that. And Niall? Niall’s good. 

He follows up the first tune with an 80’s soft rock cover that’s just as good as the original with his raw vocals. The whole atmosphere fills a hole in the singer’s profile that Zayn didn’t realize was there. 

“The next one’s another original, but I need a little help.” Niall’s gaze turns to stage right. “Liam? 

As the builder stands from his seat to take the stage, Zayn’s on the edge of his. He’s not the only one. Amir’s nearly dropping his cup of tea from being so distracted at another adult that he knew getting up in front of the crowd. 

“This is my good friend Liam,” Niall introduces as the other snags a wooden stool near the left speaker on his way to center stage. 

“Hi,” Liam waves once he’s sat aside his mate. “Everyone alright?” 

Amir’s squirming in anticipation matches how Zayn feels on the inside, the older man pulling the boy closer to his chest out of instinct and affection. 

“Good?” Once Niall’s seen Liam’s nod of approval, he starts up the first chord. 

_I have seen, seen it all in paper dreams_

_I watched it unfold on the screen, but I never understood_

Niall’s voice stays smooth through the verse, Liam swaying his head and patting his thigh lightly with the rhythm. 

_I have heard, I’ve heard you speak a million words_

_Now you’re talkin’ to me first, I never thought you would_

Zayn isn’t quite sure what he expected. From either of them really, but more so Liam once he found out that the man had a secret performer side to him. Hearing his voice harmonize smoothly with Niall’s has Zayn’s eyebrows slowly rising in pleasant surprise. 

Both of Liam’s hands grip the microphone that’s locked into the stand immediately in front of him, his body fully relaxed as if he was born to have a hundred pairs of eyes on him. The man’s voice matches his soft, tactical character - agile where it needs to be in order to accentuate Niall’s voice like it was intended to, but also not letting the guitar drown him out. When the chorus comes around, Zayn’s even more wowed, as Liam’s given the chance to open up a bit more. Just as Zayn’s getting used to the man’s soothing backing vocals, Niall lets up, leaving Liam with the second verse all to himself. 

_I was young, my heart was always on the run_

_But you make lovin’ fun, I never knew it could be_

Throughout, Liam alternates between feeling the music so much so that he closes his eyes gently to connect to his voice, and surveying the crowd calmly. Zayn’s not sure how it’s possible for anyone to not fall into a tranquil state of being with the song’s even beat and Liam’s relaxed facial features that go hand in hand with his voice. Even the small riff at the end has Zayn staring in amazement. 

For the rest of the performance he stays entranced, as does Amir. 

“You were great Liam!” Amir praises as soon as the man takes his seat next to him and Zayn after bowing his head to the crowd in thanks and putting the stool back in its place. 

The five year old’s voice cuts through the applause that’s dying down, causing a low rumble of laughter to come from the audience, and Zayn to fondly shush him quiet so Niall that can continue on to his next song. 

“Thanks,” Liam responds humbly, holding his fist out for Amir to bump back. 

Zayn’s about to tell the male the same thing, albeit more eloquently, but between the small gesture to make Amir feel like his words weren’t discounted even though he got a small reprimand for them and Niall’s introduction to his next song, Zayn’s forced to stay quiet. 

The Irishman finishes his set with an acoustic rendition of an upbeat pop song that’s so innovative, it has some of the audience feeling energized enough to sing along. Instead of letting his words get away from him like they had with Liam, Zayn makes sure to let him know how great he was while the next person set up. It isn’t until he allows Liam to walk him and Amir out after saying they should get going after the next performer to make it home in time to squeeze in a bath before the little boy’s bedtime, that the older Malik gets the chance to finally get out what he thought of Liam’s time under the lights. 

“You know,” he starts as they stand outside the cafe’s front door, “I’m kind of glad you didn’t tell me you were going to be singing. It was a nice surprise.” 

“You’re welcome,” Liam replies sarcastically, though his held back smile says that he’s not fully committed to the hard stance. 

Regardless, Zayn still lets him know that, “you sounded amazing.” 

A modest smile shows itself. “Thank you.” 

“You’re going to have to put on a matinee performance during lunch for us one of these weekends,” Zayn says in an audacious tone, Amir nodding along as soon as he heard the word ‘performance’. 

Liam shoves his hands into his pockets and leans back onto the building’s concrete exterior, “Or I can keep you on your toes until the next time.” 

Rejected even for a _fake_ performance. Zayn’s starting to wonder if the man in front of him invited Amir along for the night because he genuinely thought the boy would like to go, or so that he didn’t have to dodge Zayn in the event the Father followed his bold streak and asked him home after. No matter which intention was had, the get together was a clever ask; Zayn could be placated by seeing Liam outside a Saturday or Sunday, yet the atmosphere barely allowed the two adults time to talk outside of hellos and goodbyes. Clever, frustrating Liam... 

“That too,” Zayn mutters in distaste, doing his best to brush off the feeling as quickly as possible so it stayed far away from over consuming him. “Well, we should get going so we’re not late for bed.” 

Amir tilts his head back to look up at his Dad, “I don’t want to go to bed.” 

“The hour after a concert is always the hardest, I know.” Liam chuckles at Zayn’s lack of sympathy and true words. “Come on,” the painter moans dramatically, Amir frowning at the mockery. 

“Bye Liam,” he sighs, sending the man a small wave. 

Mirroring the dismissal, Liam’s eyes begin to crinkle from the smile he’s also giving Amir. “I’ll see you Saturday.” 

“Better not show up having bought coffee,” Zayn warns the other adult, already turning around to head towards where he parked further down the street. 

“I won’t,” Liam promises almost as soon as the empty threat left Zayn’s mouth. “I’m starting to get used to the lactose free milk.” 

If he was as brave as Amir, Zayn would’ve turned back around, except not to deliver another round of goodbye waves like his son, but to assess Liam’s expression for any clues as to how he’s supposed to interpret his comment. Instead, he continues walking forward, focusing on how nice it was to shake things up and have a night out in the middle of the week with the boy who was clutching his left hand. And while he was supposed to be thinking of things _other_ than Liam, Zayn can’t excuse how lovely it was to see the contractor outside of his normal attire, wood pencil behind his right ear included. It’s almost enough to make him forget how learning of Liam’s hidden talent and penchant for feeding Zayn’s desires makes him want to pull at his hair in frustration. Almost. 

He’s unlocking the car door when it occurs to Zayn that maybe that’s exactly where Liam wants him to be. 

The possibility adds to his irritation even more. 

🎨🎨🎨🎨🎨 

Right when Zayn thought three days was enough time for him to unwind, Liam rocks up to the Malik front door in a green shirt. 

It’s become clear that this man loves his colours in a tame way (minus his bright trainers), unlike Zayn, who enjoyed playing with them beyond his artwork through eccentric outfits. Like that one time he wore a neon orange hoodie to a parent teacher meeting and got more side glances than he normally received from others who weren’t able to tell what his relation to Amir was - was he his much older brother? Uncle? Cousin? Oh, he was his Father? Hmmm. The older he got, the more Zayn’s learned to say fuck people and their judgement - for his clothing choices, but more importantly his title as a parent. 

Because of this, he doesn’t believe there are any rules on how to dress a certain age. However, Zayn wants to contradict that thought and write one for Liam. Tell him that this t-shirts-in-never-ending-hues thing he’s got going on, shouldn’t ever end because _Liam’s_ the one that brings out the pigment of the colours, not the other way around. It’s the sort of inspiration artists dream to find in a person, rather than an item or emotion. 

Typically, Zayn does exactly that - creates from a feeling evoked. It can come at any time, from almost any_thing_, showing itself through his colour choice and types of strokes he uses. If he’s drawing, it might live in the shading or amount of pressure he adheres. Drips down the canvas, the thickness of the acrylic, the way he takes to a certain colour more than others halfway through a piece - it nearly always originates from a mood, subconsciously or not. 

The work that the public sees tend to be of portraits, mainly because they sell well, so the more eyes on them, the quicker the turnover rate, but what they don’t see are the hundreds of pieces he makes for _himself_. If it weren’t for his ratio of one portrait to five personal works, Zayn would feel like a factory and surely fall out of love with art all together. 

An exception to the rule might be the half-faced portrait of Liam that randomly started itself last weekend. He wishes he could incorporate the forest green the man’s sporting for the day, but his instincts have gone for realism, so maybe next time. 

Looking up from the drawing laid out on the patio table, a different type of inspiration sparks inside Zayn when he catches Liam wipe off the sweat on his brow from the exertion he’s putting his body through stacking roofing tiles. 

The male’s focus turns away from where he’s about to position his nail gun once he sees Zayn wave to him from below on the grass, motioning to the drink in his hand once he sees that he’s got Liam’s attention. 

“Do you like blackcurrant?” Zayn asks as soon as the other’s putting down his tool and taking out his earbuds. 

“Yeah I do.” In less than three seconds, Liam’s off his ladder and reaching down the hole in the floor of the house portion of the structure. “Thanks.” 

“Roof’s coming along nicely,” Zayn notes when it’s clear Liam plans on staying up off the ground. 

“It’s probably the most tedious part of building any type of house.” After squeezing through the gaps of the front wall foundation, Liam takes a seat on the edge of the platform, legs dangling in the air. “Installing the rafters, stationing the eave protection, placing the underlay, layering the shakes - none of it’s difficult, just takes a lot of time.” 

Nowhere in there did Zayn hear the word shingles, which was the only roofing term he knew and proof he was lost, so he simply nods in response. “Thanks to your invitation a few days ago, all Amir can talk about is wanting to learn how to play the guitar.” Zayn watches as Liam smiles around the glass he’s drinking from. “And the fact that he knows famous people now,” he adds. 

“Niall’s got a hustler side to him too,” Liam divulges after swallowing. “I doubt he’d mind teaching him.” 

The thought had crossed Zayn’s mind, yet the borderline silence of his studio reminded him why that was a bad idea. “Amir’s a relatively quiet kid. I’m not sure I want to corrupt that this early on.” 

Liam’s reply that “guitar’s better than a drum kit” earns him a sharp glare. 

“Look,” Zayn growls, “if you introduce him to any drummers, he’ll be moving in with you.” 

“I don’t know any,” Liam laughs harmlessly, the sight moving Zayn enough that he backs down with the intimidating front he’s put on. “You’re right that he’s a pretty even tempered five year old,” the male continues. 

“Gets that from me,” Zayn boasts, leaning his weight on his right leg. “I’m an introvert through and through. Not really an in-your-face type of person.” 

“I’ve noticed.” Tilting the glass back, Liam drinks the last of its contents. “I like it.” 

Zayn should probably take the time to bask in the glory that comes with receiving a compliment from someone who was incredibly stubborn at giving them, but he’s too caught up in the topic of his son to care. “During the day he’s full of energy and curiosity.” He smiles genially, “As you’ve seen with how much he bugs you.” 

“It’s not bugging,” Liam insists patiently. “He likes to make friends. That’s a good thing.” 

Zayn’s quick to agree, realizing how he sounded, “It is, it is. He gets the social nature from his Mum. At night, when he calms down, he’s a lot like how I was as a kid.” He considers his words, “And still am.” 

“Which is how?” 

“A more mellow sort of learner,” Zayn decides on, staring at Liam’s empty glass that’s sitting next to him and wondering if he should refill it. “I tend to talk only about what I care about; I keep the rest to myself. If he has to, he focuses more during the late afternoon and night, same with me. I think he sees the daylight as something that shouldn’t be wasted on serious activities.” 

Liam holds a lopsided grin at the seriousness to which Zayn’s given Amir’s actions. “He’s told you that?” 

“No, of course not,” the older male chuckles. He’d be in trouble if Amir was that introspective at five. “As he gets older I just pick up on more of his permanent tendencies.” 

“When I was his age I was always running around, doing something.” Zayn doesn’t think it would take a genius to have guessed that. “Now that you’ve given him a proper analysis, I wonder if I thought the same way…” 

“As soon as you add a time machine to your portfolio, let me know. I want to see hyperactive Liam for myself.” A smirk easily makes its way onto Zayn’s lips, “Maybe _he’d_ agree to a play date with me.” 

“Depends,” the builder teases. “Did you like Toy Story?” 

That was a dumb question. “What kid didn’t?” 

“Does Amir?” 

Zayn almost laughs from the ridiculousness of the answer. “You’ve got no idea.” He doesn’t want to veer off topic too much though; Liam’s not getting away that easy. “The next time Niall plays at that place, you should come with us for dinner beforehand. We barely got to talk this time.” 

While his patience meter reset over the past three days, Zayn had realized how much he had been trying to force things with the contractor. Which was why from now on he planned on taking a more natural approach, intentionally including Amir to up the element of innocence, and placing the date in the future to avoid a sense of immediacy. 

“You’re meant to listen to the music.” 

Now Liam’s just _purposefully_ making Zayn frustrated, he can see it in his humoured features. The look almost makes Zayn want to switch what he planned on getting them for lunch. It’s not particularly cold, but the idea had come from the man’s notes on Liam’s favourite foods that he took the first day. Zayn’s hormones exclude the rejection as an option when Liam licks his lips to rid himself of any leftover purple residue. 

“I’m ordering steak pies for lunch,” he informs the other begrudgingly, catching the glass that Liam tosses down carefully. “I’ll call you when they’re here.” 

“Thanks Zayn,” Liam sings at Zayn’s retreating figure. 

The whole walk back to the kitchen, Zayn grumbles to himself at how much he loves hearing his name in Liam’s accent, but that _still_ doesn’t discount the bittersweet hate he has for being played with. 

— 

“What year was Mickey Mouse born?” 

Liam bites on the straw sticking out of his Sprite bottle. “Born?” 

“Created,” Zayn whispers into the man’s ear, ignoring the wary look Amir gives him for possibly cheating. 

“1920?” Liam tries apprehensively. 

“Close,” the boy sympathizes, shaking his head when Zayn doesn’t do much better with 1915. “1928.” He barrels into his next question straight away, “What country does pizza come from?” 

“Italy.” 

Amir nods, making a tick mark next to B for Baba. 

“That was an easy one,” Liam complains, setting his bottle down on the dining room table they were sitting at as his competitive side starts to take over now that the winner of the small trivia competition came down to the next question. 

Amir studies the paper in front of him that he’s shielding from the other two. “How many colours are in the rainbow?” 

“That’s…” Liam trials off, looking at Zayn even more confused than he had been with the cartoon character’s ‘birthday’. “There are unlimited colours,” he decides on. 

Dropping his hands that were hiding the answers, Amir scowls at his Baba, “You let Liam win.” 

“So you used a question you knew he would get right?” 

Being called out on his tactics by the contractor forces Amir to scramble and find a way to divert the attention from the game, to something else. “Do you want to see my room?” 

Zayn smiles victoriously at staying his son’s favourite person when Liam turns to look at him. “Sure,” the man replies, keeping his eyes narrowed at the other adult playfully as he gets up from the table’s bench. 

Instead of going off to play after he was done eating lunch that day, Amir went to grab a piece of paper that Harry had used when he was over last to pay quizmaster of a fake pub quiz between the two adults. Zayn’s friend had met his significant other at a pub quiz night when he was down someone in his group, wrangingly in a nearby Louis who had just moved to Sheffield from Doncaster for a change of scenery, to fill the slot. Neither could have expected that they’d get a husband out of that night, especially not Louis, who was just out to try and find the best pint in town. It’s become their ‘thing’ ever since. The two even putting one on at their wedding during the reception. Zayn doesn’t go to bars, doesn’t go anywhere _near_ alcohol anymore, so he never joins them, but they’ve given Amir the bug thanks to practicing trivia whenever they babysit him - which isn’t all that often, yet Amir’s still amassed a huge amount of kid friendly facts that he loves to spout off randomly to impress people. If it weren’t for the little boy’s love for colouring, Zayn would be slightly worried that Harry and Louis were more impressionable on him than his own Father. 

After hiking up the stairs behind the other two, Zayn stands just inside the doorway as Amir starts to explain his room to Liam. Not many come over to the household that haven’t already seen it before, so this is a real treat for the boy. 

Liam’s in shock, Zayn can tell by the way his eyes widen the second the door opened and the Disney-themed 360º mural that’s taken over the boy’s walls was revealed. Now he can _see_ what Zayn meant by his comment earlier - the boy’s obsessed with anything Disney. 

“Wow,” Liam gasps, failing to settle his eyes on any one film universe in the collection that keeps growing the more he turns. 

The reaction’s exactly what Amir was hoping for. “Do you like it?” 

“I love it,” Liam confirms, still consumed by the never ending colours. “I’m jealous my room doesn’t look like this.” 

Already knowing Liam’s answer to Amir’s next question of “what’s your favourite Disney film?”, Zayn finds the Toy Story portion of the wall next to one of the boy’s red dressers. 

Amir hops over to where the main characters of the movie Liam’s named live. Buzz Lightyear’s flying down from the sky while Woody rides on top of the remote control car. Several toys are trying to catch up with him since Zayn painted the cowboy and RC to look like they were riding out of the wall. The artist remembers how many hours that specific group of characters took to get right because the detail of their clothing was so much greater in comparison to the characters like Stitch that only required a lot of blue. So much so, that Zayn had only made the alien’s outline. Amir was the one to fill in the contour with navy, holding his hand steady when his Baba pushed the brush around to give the creature the shading he needed. The process worked so well with Stitch, that Zayn delegated the boy the same job for any other large area made up of mostly one colour. 

“I like Woody,” Amir informs Liam, pointing out the cowboy even though the man had just confessed the film was his favourite. “But Baba likes Slinky Dog the best.” 

Zayn shrugs when Liam turns to look at him, disappointed in his choice. “So sue me.” 

Regardless of the face he gave Zayn, Liam gives Amir a diplomatic answer: “They’re both good choices.” 

The red that takes over a majority of the Toy Story section bleeds into the dusty maroon of Aladdin’s Agrabah and the sun setting over Lion King’s pride rock. “Timon’s a meerkat,” Amir says staring at the animal that matches his height, a huge blue bug sticking out of the character’s mouth. “Did you know that?” 

“I think I did,” Liam ponders out loud, “but I forgot.” He ventures over to look at the video game verse of Wreck It Ralph that uses a vast cityscape to intertwine itself with Wall-E to its right and The Incredibles to its left. “Have you been to Disney World?” 

“Oh no,” Zayn mumbles under his breath, just waiting for the shoe to drop. 

“No,” Amir pouts, completely forgetting about the mural now that Liam’s bringing up the possibility of seeing all the 2D drawings in real life. “But I want to go so bad!” 

Liam’s eyes hardly move from studying the emotion Zayn’s captured in WALL-E’s. “I’ve been a few times.” 

The concept doesn’t seem fair to Amir. “You’ve been more than one time!?” 

For the first time since entering the room, Liam turns his eyes to Amir’s when he hears how distraught the boy is at the information. “My family and I used to go to the area in America where it is every winter holiday when I was a kid. But I’ve never been to any of the other Disney Parks.” 

Liam’s attempt at making Amir feel better by talking down the visits backfires. “There’s more than one?” The boy whines. 

“Oh no,” Zayn repeats to himself, shaking his head at where this was headed. 

“Baba,” Amir shifts his gaze to his Father, eyes wide in sadness that he’s only just now learning that Disney exists in several places. “There’s more than one?” 

“Liam…” Zayn’s voice and slitted eyes show the man just how aggravated he is at opening this can of worms. 

Realizing what he’s done, Liam becomes the one with big eyes. “Um…” 

He alternates looking between the two Malik’s desperately. 

“Are the other ones in America?” 

Not knowing if it was safe to answer Amir or not, Liam stares at Zayn in mild panic. “You can’t _not_ tell him now,” Zayn says while crossing his arms lazily. 

Liam waits for a few seconds in case Zayn takes back his words before going ahead and disclosing the other locations. “There’s another one in America and one in Paris.” 

“And in Tokyo,” Zayn adds, “and two in China.” 

While Liam’s surprised at Zayn’s extensive knowledge on Disney Park sites, Amir’s overjoyed at how many there are. “Let’s go to all of them!” 

Before moving on to his son, Zayn glares at the other adult as if to say ‘look what you’ve done’. “Maybe one day ‘mir,” he offers, pushing off of the wall he was leaning against that held a scene from Ratatouille. “Liam’s got work to do, let’s go.” 

At first Amir seems sad that his room tour has come to an end, but then it dawns on him that he can go back to playing with the action figures and cars that he was forming a city with before lunch. Straight away, the boy heads down the stairs, his Baba and Liam following soon after. 

“Thanks for that,” Zayn says sarcastically as he cleans up what’s left of their lunch. 

“I wasn’t thinking.” Guilt saturates Liam’s whole being - body, voice, facial features. “I’m sorry.” 

“He’s been begging me to go for ages.” Inconspicuously, Zayn looks over his shoulder to make sure Amir can’t hear him. “I’m looking into surprising him for his birthday, which is how I know where all the parks are. Been tryin’ to do research on which is the best.” 

“World,” Liam answers instantly, stacking up all their plates to take to the sink. “No question.” 

“Yeah, that’s what it’s looking like.” A quick glance at the microwave clock tells Zayn they’ve gone way past their usual lunch break. “He’s at the perfect age right now to appreciate it and believe in it all. This past year he’s grown a lot too, so he should be able to go on a majority of the rides. After that,” he leans back against the counter, “the next big ticketed item he’s getting is uni.” 

“When you go, I’ll give you a few tips.” Liam stops to stand at the edge of the breakfast bar and face Zayn. “Assuming you haven’t already been.” 

Considering Liam knows Amir’s birthday is in August, Zayn can’t help thinking that it’s a bit presumptuous that they’ll still be talking to each other that far into the future. It makes him see that maybe Liam’s flirting game might not be all that hard to crack after all, it just needs some time. 

“I’ve only ever been to Paris,” he relays, hopeful that the other’s as good of a listener as he comes off to be and remembers that the city’s where he got married. “Haven’t even been on a plane. It’s all a part of the plan to give him what I never got.” 

Nodding, Liam speaks caringly, “Like I said before, you’re a good Dad.” 

Even though there’s no confirmation that the man’s memory was as good as Zayn assumes it would be, he knows that _his_ is, and he never recalls Liam telling him that he was a good Father. It’s possible he was referencing the noble comment, but Zayn doesn’t think so. What’s more likely is that Liam’s felt that way about Zayn’s parenting for a while, just hasn’t realized that he’s never said it out loud. Either way, it earns the man a small “thank you”. 

“You’re welcome.” Liam looks over to the table that’s now void of anything other than Zayn’s sketchbook and pencils at the far end. “And thanks for lunch.” 

As the man walks out to the backyard, Zayn whispers, “Of course.” 

Since he likes having the space to spread out with his supplies, he stays at the dining room table to continue his drawing, using the glass doors as his means of admiring Liam instead of sitting directly outside like he had that morning. 

Switching flesh tone pencils out for one another, Zayn puts together what Liam said about his childhood personality and pairs it with a mental image of him running around Florida with a Woody doll in his hand. He hasn’t really seen a silly side to the man outside of how he interacts with Amir, but he thinks it fits Liam’s kind nature to have been that way when he was younger. 

Near the end of the afternoon Zayn looks at the kind hearted smile he’s given Liam’s sketch and likes how it’s a mature way of visualizing the male’s playfulness that probably still lives inside him somewhere - a trait Zayn really hopes he gets to see one day. 

The next time Liam enters the house, Zayn’s already at the stove whipping up a simple penne for dinner. 

“Finish the roof?” 

“Yeah,” the worker replies, taking a seat on one of the high top stools in front of the counter. “Brought up the windows and moldings too. I’ll install those and start the side paneling tomorrow.” 

“Which I need to tell you…” After making sure the stove’s ok to be left alone, Zayn walks over to the junk drawer and starts to sift through it. “Since it’s Easter tomorrow, we won’t be here. I didn’t know if you were planning on working, but since you are,” he pulls out what he was looking for and slides it over to Liam. “Here’s a spare key so you can get inside in case you need anything. Toilet, drinks, a rest, whatever. I trust you.” 

At the vulnerable declaration, Liam grins warmly. “Thanks.” The silver key finds its way into Liam’s front jeans pocket. “My family doesn’t really do anything big, so I thought I might as well come. Not make Amir wait any longer than he needs to.” 

Zayn returns to the stove, too nervous that history will repeat itself and the water will boil over the edge in a mess. “One day won’t make a huge difference, but him and I appreciate that.” 

“Easter Egg hunt?” 

There’s a nod coming from Zayn in response, “Down in Nottingham with Ava’s parents. They trade off holidays with mine.” Taking a page out of Liam’s own book, the artist avoids eye contact when he coyly says, “Sorry I won’t be able to make you any coffee.” 

“Gonna have to bring my own lunch too,” Liam recognizes, the sound of his voice telling Zayn that he’s staring right at him. 

“I’ll make it up to you next week.” Not being able to keep up with the demure act, Zayn turns his eyes back to Liam. “Just don’t go wearing any bright colours while I’m gone.” 

“I’ll wear black.” 

Without asking for picture proof, there’s no way to monitor Liam’s clothing choice, but if he’s serious, Zayn believes him, doesn’t need the extra confirmation. “‘Mir, Liam’s leaving for the day.” 

Perking up from the expansive carpet that covers most of the TV area, Amir pads over to the kitchen. 

“Are you gonna get a lot of sweets tomorrow?” Liam asks once the boy’s within earshot. 

“I hope so.” For a second Amir looks like he’s about to climb on the stool beside the builder, but he sticks with his spot in between Liam and his Baba. 

“Eat a piece of dairy free chocolate for me,” Liam says seriously as he stands from the seat. “Ok?” 

Amir nods obediently, “ok.” 

Zayn’s completely caught off guard when Amir takes the necessary few steps forward to give Liam a tight hug. 

Both adults look at each other in surprise as Liam wraps what he can of his arms around Amir’s much shorter body. It’s not as if the child’s the type to hide behind his Baba’s legs when it came to strangers, far from it, but Zayn certainly hasn’t ever seen him really show affection to another adult like this since he met his Reception teacher. Then again, Zayn hasn’t exactly introduced him to any other constant adults other than Harry and Louis, and they don’t even count; the husbands came along well before Amir was born. Even Harry, who’s opinion Zayn trusted the most given his psychology background, had to admit that the instant bond was a rare one, but as Zayn watches Liam rub the part of Amir’s back he can reach standing up, he figures that this was naturally the next step, he shouldn’t be surprised at all. 

“I’ll make sure to keep the kingdom safe while you’re gone,” Liam promises the little boy, giving Zayn more confidence in his choice to hand over the house key. “If you need anything, just text me.” 

Zayn’s eyes flicker up to meet Liam’s when he notices that the comment was geared towards him. “Will do.” 

When Amir’s had enough physical contact to last him the week, both Malik’s walk Liam to the front door, waving to him as he gets into his truck and takes off. 

⚒⚒⚒⚒⚒ 

Locking up the house before eight on Sunday feels odd to Zayn, never mind doing it without knowing Liam’s in the backyard making a ruckus with his table saw. 

Arriving in Nottingham feels even weirder. 

Any time Zayn comes to the city, or makes a pit stop on the way to London, he’s reminded of his first visit over eleven years ago, what the second rate university situated on the north side of town gifted him. 

Even though he’d mentioned to Liam that Ava’s parents weren't his biggest fans after the shotgun wedding, the couple had adored him up until then; and truth be told, when they saw how happy their daughter was with two rings on her left ring finger, Zayn didn’t think they were as mad about how they got there as they made it out to seem. When Ava passed, Zayn had given them their space, as did they, but when it came time for the funeral, each party leaned heavily on each other. After all, their daughter still lived through the then almost four month old who stayed surprisingly silent during the service, and the last thing Zayn would ever dream of doing was keep Amir away from his Grandparents, even if they did cause the widower slight pain at having to endure each and every time they brought up their late daughter. Which, for it being five and a half years later, was still a lot, especially the older Amir got and the more his personality shone through. 

In Zayn’s opinion, he’s done a pretty good job at staying strong through those moments. For example, not letting his smile falter at the stories they tell the boy that morning about his Mother when they’re all sitting down for a quick breakfast before driving to the festivities and Ava’s Father points out a picture on display where his daughter’s just about Amir’s age. Or when the five year old’s in a racing stance, ready to launch off when the announcer officially starts the hunt, and Ava’s Mother reminisces about how her grandson was just as eager as Ava had been. And that one hurts Zayn on a personal level more than it does sting from what’s not there. 

Coming from a mixed background, he hadn’t ever experienced Easter as a child, or any of the other religious based holidays that almost all of his British peers did for that matter. He never felt like he missed out; the gifts and cash he got during Eid were enough for him to get over that quickly, it was the rocky terrain that he had to navigate as a parent not knowing the traditions of any celebration he hadn’t gone through himself that reminded him of his different upbringing. Amir had great perception skills, but luckily Zayn’s preemptive online searches that came when he decided that he was going to include the holidays for the sake of fun and not religious groundwork, had rendered him confident enough to not have to worry about the boy second guessing his knowledge. 

Regardless, that was nothing compared to the parts of fatherhood that Zayn was still figuring out as he went. Like how to make Amir feel normal outside of his accommodating household when it came to his dietary restrictions. 

The kid didn’t have it the easiest with Easter being a holiday centered mostly around chocolate, that’s for sure. It’s part of the reason Zayn insisted they go to the hunt that had the children find wooden eggs and trade them in for prizes instead of sweets, even though he spent way too much buying dairy free chocolate eggs online to give to Amir afterwards anyway. The other reason was selfish on Zayn’s part - he just didn’t want to have to drive another hour to the West after already having to get up and on the road as early as they had to. In the end, everyone was happy. 

Even so, the drive back late at night wasn’t exactly fun. Between waking up at six that morning to make sure neither had to rush to get ready, and the whirlwind of a day that went on to include a second place colouring contest win by Amir, face painting, a BBQ, and then a full afternoon being doted on by Ava’s parents, both Malik’s were exhausted. It was only an hour drive home, but Zayn’s glad Amir’s fallen asleep; it makes waking him up to wash off the tiger face paint before bed a lot easier. 

Pouring himself a cup of tea once Amir’s tucked in, Zayn notices a napkin laying out on the countertop. He nearly throws it away before seeing that there’s faint writing on it - Liam’s wood pencil. 

**Going to leave the key under the front mat in case you need it. Only got half the side paneling done with how rubbish my coffee was this morning. See you Sat - Liam**

Craning his neck to see out the back glass doors doesn’t do Zayn any good, it’s far too dark for him to make out the work-in-progress treehouse from where he’s standing. Curiosity grabs hold of him regardless, coaxing him out with the security of the patio light and mobile one on his phone. 

Aiming the device at the trees, he can make out the new additions: the windows have been put in, half the walls are now closed off, and like Liam had mentioned, those that are, have wooden panels covering them in the pattern of a log cabin. Zayn’s not sure what the man’s on about, he did a lot. 

Still, he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t smug about the fact that Liam had missed his presence enough to make a false claim about the headway made for that day. So, after he slides the note under his laptop on the counter for safekeeping and makes his way to bed, he decides to give the builder a small taste of his own medicine. 

**You’re right, you hardly got anything finished today. Shame**

Zayn’s not sure if Liam’s still awake to receive the text given how taxing a ten hour, labour intensive work day must be on a person’s body, but he sends it anyway. _Apparently not all that tiring_, he thinks to himself when he’s receiving a quick reply back. 

**Didn’t have the right kind of caffeine to keep me energized. Was really hot wearing black too**

Zayn tilts his head back against his headboard. 

_Hope that means you didn’t take it off without me_ is what Zayn almost writes back, but after realizing that might start a dangerous fight with someone just as dangerous, he erases the message and re-words his thoughts. 

**Don’t worry, it was a one time thing. You’ll have your personal barista back next weekend**

Opening up his notes app, Zayn jots down a reminder to buy new coffee beans. 

**Im glad I know he accepts tips in the form of the colours I wear now. Got just the thing for Sat**

The artist practically tosses his phone onto the bedside table. Liam’s not getting a reply. Zayn needs to keep his sanity. 

🌳🌳🌳🌳🌳 

Even with a hint as to what was to come from Zayn’s new vice at the end of the week, he still gets a tremendous amount of work done before then. Maybe it’s from an irrational need that Zayn’s brain has made up to make him feel like he has to _earn_ the reward of sorts. It’s ridiculous; Liam’s going to show up in whatever colour he deems worthy come Saturday, irrespective of how much client work Zayn gets done or not. Yet the artist somehow winds up finishing the dancer’s painting _and_ a small graphic logo regardless. 

In between working and hanging out with Amir after school, Zayn finds the time to stop by a local coffee roaster on the outskirts of town. From his days as a barista, he remembers most of the terminology and what to look for in a blend, but the owner has such a huge selection that Zayn needs help navigating it all before he sits down for a tasting. 

When Saturday rolls around, he tries to play it cool when Liam’s noticing that the coffee he’s just taken a drink of, isn’t the normal brew he’s used to from Zayn. 

“It’s a Peruvian bean,” he fills in for the man as he watches him take a second sip. “Can you taste the lime?” 

The tangy fruit wasn’t the most conventional flavour to find in a coffee, so when the owner of the roaster gave Zayn a sample to try, he was skeptical, but the second he let the drink sit on his tongue, he knew it was exactly what he was looking for. 

“Barely,” Liam replies, face twisted in concentration as he tries to put a name to the other flavours he’s tasting. “Is there chocolate in it too?” 

Bingo. 

“To balance it out, yeah.” 

The richness of the cacao mixed with the lime was what gave the coffee it’s unique taste. Somewhere in there, one could find a hint of nut, but Zayn didn’t care to go into the specifics, all that mattered was that his way of ‘making it up’ to Liam had gone according to plan. Then again, so did the contractor’s when Zayn clenched his jaw the second he opened the door and saw the annoyingly bright orange t-shirt the other was wearing. 

“I saved you some Easter chocolate!” 

Both men turn to look at Amir, who must’ve been eavesdropping into their conversation from the couch, hearing the word chocolate and remembering what he had in the fridge. 

“You did?” Liam inquires once he realizes that the little boy was speaking to him. 

A small nod comes from Amir, “yeah, but it’s too early to have sweets.” The statement has Zayn feeling like he’s done _something_ right if his five year old has the capacity to hold off from eating sugar before the afternoon. That, and the fact that it was his little one’s idea, not Zayn’s, to put aside some of his personal sweets for Liam. “After lunch maybe Baba will let us have some.” 

In lieu of laughing about how he was an adult and he could have whatever he wanted at any time of the day, Liam goes along with Amir’s hopefulness, “Fingers crossed. I want to try it.” 

The man has the patience of a monk, Zayn swears it. 

“In the meantime,” Liam continues, standing up from his place at the table. “Do you want to go outside with me so I can measure you for the door?” Right when Zayn’s about to make a comment about how he thought Liam had taken Amir’s measurements on the first day for this exact reason, the younger adult adds, “I know I checked your height a few weeks ago, but you’re always growing, remember?” 

It’s enough to get Amir off the floor in a second flat, not that he needed any convincing to climb up the ladder to begin with. For Zayn, it alerted him that it was time to play concerned parent and spot his son. Liam still hadn’t put up the rest of the outer railings, and until he did, Zayn planned on watching Amir like a hawk any time he went close to the structure. 

“Will Meerkat fit?” Liam asks once he’s pencil’d out the appropriate height and width for the door, making sure Amir had stood on his tiptoes to let the boy believe he was accounting for future growth even though it was clear he put the ticks where he saw fit. 

While Amir giggles and places his stuffed Meerkat that he brought up with him right in the middle of where the door will be to prove that yes, he will fit, Zayn runs a hand through his quiff in restless adoration. 

“All good?” He ruffles up Amir’s hair when the boy’s back down on the ground, the meerkat tucked under his arm like always. 

The littler Malik hums out an “mhmm” in response before taking off towards where his football is in the middle of the yard. Looking back up, Zayn watches Liam take another drink of his coffee before placing the mug out of the way so no sawdust could get inside. 

Zayn’s occasionally worked on his sketch of Liam throughout the week, but he hadn’t wanted to ruin his streak of finishing commissioned work, so it unfortunately went without much attention. It’s how he finds himself desperately working to complete the realistic piece so he can move on to something colourful, something that can capture Liam’s spirit in a way that’s different than just putting his radiant smile and inviting brown eyes down on paper. 

Thankfully that time comes sooner rather than later, as Zayn powers through the last few shades of pink to get Liam’s skin tone just right, finishing the picture right before lunch. He’s just resurfaced from his studio, where he put the pad of paper away and ordered jerk chicken for them all, when Liam’s making his way through the backdoor. Usually Zayn would feel his heart swell at the sight of Amir by the man’s side, but instead he feels it drop at the worried look his son’s sporting. 

“Do you have any tweezers?” 

Zayn sets his phone down on the dining room table blindly, eyebrows bunched together in concern at Liam’s question. “What’s wrong?” 

“Got a splinter,” the male explains, holding out his left pointer finger for Zayn to know where the wood got him. “Thinner cut lumber like the plywood I was moving tends to crack and split easier than other types. Didn’t think I’d need my gloves for just moving the boards to the other side of the room.” Liam continues to stare at his inconvenience, “I can usually get them out with my mouth, but this one’s too slim.” 

He’s supposed to be going to get the builder a pair of tweezers, that much Zayn knows, yet his feet are stuck in their spot. “Your mouth?” 

Liam’s eyes snap up to look at the other adult, “yeah. You’ve never done that? Use your teeth to pull one out?” 

“Brush bristles never betray me like that,” Zayn jokes in a cool manner, confident that Liam wasn’t able to tell how the remedy threw him off since he’d gone back to staring at his finger closely. “I’ve got a pair upstairs, one sec.” 

“Does it hurt?” Zayn hears Amir ask Liam when he starts to ascend the stairs, the curve of the steps making it too difficult to catch the adult’s response. 

Looking for the silver tool, Zayn tries to think back to when he last got a sliver. A paper cut, nearly every week, but a sliver? It must’ve been years. Even then, he’d never used anything other than tweezers or his fingers to pull out the wood. Although by the way Liam had stared at him in disbelief, maybe _he_ was the odd one out for not using his mouth. 

He shoves the thought to the back of his mind when he locates what he was looking for, bouncing down the stairs and handing over the tweezers to the man in need. 

“Thanks,” Liam says in relief, having Amir aim his phone’s back light at his finger while he carefully slid the splinter out of his skin and onto the counter. “There. No worries.” 

Amir hands Liam back his phone before staring at the miniscule piece of wood that now sits against the white countertop. 

“You’re right on time.” To avoid the little boy being next to get pricked, Zayn sweeps the splinter up and tosses it into the sink. “Food’s just about here,” he lets Liam know. 

“What’s on the menu today?” 

Steak was a hard one to work with for lunch, but chicken Zayn was liking getting creative with. “Jerk chicken sound alright?” 

“Very,” Liam responds in an upbeat tone at the unconventional option. 

It’s the same voice Amir’s rejoicing in when Zayn allows him to have some of his candy once they all finish eating. 

Taking out his stash of sweets from the weekend prior, Amir brings the small sack over to the table. “Which do you want?” He pours the contents out for Liam to choose from. 

“I thought you saved me a specific one?” The man’s eyes take in the various chocolates: some in the shape of rabbits, others similar to regular Cadbury eggs. “I get to pick?” 

Being given the time to think over his generosity, Amir pulls out the largest egg from the bunch. “Now you can,” he confirms. 

Out of good faith Liam picks the smallest rectangle, saying his thank you’s before unwrapping the chocolate and popping it into his mouth. 

Both Amir _and_ Zayn wait for the verdict. 

“It’s…” Liam takes his time chewing the candy, tasting it as if it’s a fine wine. “Not as bad as I thought. Certainly not as rich or creamy as regular chocolate, but not terrible.” 

The review beats Louis’ first impression - which consisted of him spitting the sweet into the bin within seconds - by a landslide, making Amir beam at someone else appreciating his involuntary pallet. 

Even Zayn’s taken aback. People’s culinary likes and dislikes were practical solidified at their age. For Liam to be as open minded and receptive to the taste of a food he was already used to being altered, was hard to come by. 

Liam as a whole was a unique find. It’s what Zayn’s thinking when they’ve all gone back to their respective places after lunch - Liam to the back yard, Amir to his playroom upstairs, and Zayn to his studio where he’s now staring at a blank canvas, trying to figure out where his heart wants to start the process of bringing Liam to life with colour. 

He was never usually this cautious when he started a piece, always just letting his instincts take control without any worry at what the end product wound up looking like. Not knowing Liam for more than three weeks is what makes this so thrilling. They’re simultaneously past, and still in, the first impression stages with one another. Anything in the future will be tainted by experiences and memories; right now was when he’d be able to capture Liam’s true essence the best. 

Thinking of all the outfits the man’s put together thus far, only one colour stands out that Liam’s yet to wear. 

“Red it is,” Zayn says to himself, taking a step forward to start covering the white space. 

\--- 

Like any time he gets lost in his own world when working on his art, Zayn nearly jumps out of his skin at the reminder that he hasn’t transported himself to another dimension, he’s still in fact on Earth. With other people. One being his son. 

“Baba?” 

Zayn turns to see the boy waiting in the doorway, staring at the canvas that’s now far from white - a body has formed in the center, along with a relatively distinguishable face. “Yeah?” 

“Can I go to Tom’s house?” 

Pressing the home button on his phone tells Zayn that he’s been at it for three hours straight. Thank god for Amir being responsible, otherwise he’d beat himself up for not checking on him more often. This was why he didn’t come into his studio too often when Amir was home - one burst of inspiration and he was a goner. 

“As long as he’s home,” Zayn answers, putting his brush to the side and wiping his hands on the smock that he had slipped on over his clothes soon after starting. “Let me give his parents a call and if they say yes, I’ll take you over.” 

Pleased with the answer, Amir walks into the living area with Zayn as he finds the right contact in his phone and makes the quick call. It takes all of thirty seconds for the little boy to go from sitting next to his Dad on the couch to running to the front door to put his shoes on once he hears Zayn say that they’ll be over in a few minutes. 

“Grab your coat too,” Zayn calls after him. “Just in case it rains.” Looking past the dining room table and out the back doors, he can see the clouds start to darken - a sign that his subconscious had somehow paid attention to the weather out the front window of his studio while Zayn was in his daze. 

As he shuts the front door behind him, he wonders if he should’ve let Liam know of his whereabouts for the fifteen minutes it would take Zayn to walk Amir down the street to the neighbors house and come back. The contractor’s such a hard worker, that Zayn decides against sending him a quick text since he’s probably caught up in his job too much to even notice the homeowner’s absence. 

In fact, it takes him until he’s ready to leave for Liam to even realize that his trusty helper wasn’t anywhere to be found at the six o’clock hour. 

“Where’s Amir?” He asks walking through the backdoor, puzzled. 

“Friend’s house,” Zayn provides from his spot in the kitchen where he’s doing dishes, having ditched his artwork for the day when his stomach growled twenty minutes ago and he knew the only way he was going to eat was if he had clean plates to do so with. “He’s been over there for a few hours now.” 

“Really?” Liam scratches the area below his pecs mindlessly. “I hadn’t even noticed.” 

Rinsing off the last of the plates, Zayn shrugs, “and to think he saved chocolates for you.” 

“Don’t,” Liam warns, “I’ll feel even worse.” 

The artist chuckles as he dries his hands, “He’s having dinner over there.” Zayn leans on his left forearm that’s pressed against the sink, facing Liam. “Which means I’ve got the house to myself for at least another hour.” 

He can’t deny how good it feels to be able to comfortably flirt like this with someone as out of his league as Liam, but Zayn’s still sticking to his slow downed pace; the innuendo was only in good fun. 

“You can get a lot of cleaning done then.” Cocking his head to the side in an enticing fashion, Liam grins at the older man in ardour. “See you tomorrow Zayn.” 

And just like that, Zayn’s seeing red. This time, from feelings other than anger. 

🎨🎨🎨🎨🎨 

Similar to the day before, the clouds don’t look like they want to play nice when Zayn and Amir open the door for Liam first thing the next morning, but the weather doesn’t seem to bother him whatsoever; he’s still all smiles throughout their typical morning routine of small talk over coffee. 

Having inspected Liam’s work after he left the day before and seen that he had finished the rest of the house’s side paneling and carved out the space for the door, Zayn’s not sure how much work there is left. No more than a couple visits after today, that’s for sure. 

He contemplates bringing out his piece on Liam to the dining room table so he can admire the man for however much time remains on their ticking clock, but he decides against it, not sure yet on how he’d feel if the man caught Zayn shading green into his hair. 

A part of Zayn thinks Liam would be flattered. That he’d fall in love with the thought of an artist thinking of him as worthy enough to bring to life from their perspective. He could also find Zayn obsessive and a complete whack job. Not wanting to risk that label, Zayn shuffles off to his studio, keeping the door open so he could listen to Amir play with his Lego’s in front of the TV. 

The sound of Peppa Pig drifts into the art room, its only inhabitant grinning to himself every time he hears a juvenile joke be made when he snaps out of his trance to swirl new colours together on his simple wood board that acts as a palette. What he would give to be a carefree five year old again… 

“Baba? Can we get pizza for lunch?” 

Taking a few steps back from his work, Zayn scrutinizes the brush strokes and shape that the piece is taking a couple hours later. 

“Baba…” 

_His jumper needs more orange mixed in with the black._

“Yeah,” Zayn replies distractedly. “I’ll order pizza.” 

“You’re gonna forget.” 

The man goes straight for the orange portion of his board, “I’m not gonna forget. I just want to finish up the sleeves and then I’ll order us your favourite pizza with the olives.” 

“You’re working. You always forget when you work too hard.” 

Zayn’s mid brush stroke when he stops in his tracks. The expectant tone Amir uses has him setting the brush in the old soup can that’s filled with water. “Tell you what,” he says while turning around to face his son who’s standing in the doorway. “I’ll store the paints I’ve poured out and then you can watch me order the pizza.” Amir’s lips twist up. “Then afterwards I can beat you in a round of Mario Party while we wait. How does that sound?” 

“You’re horrible,” the boy taunts playfully. “You’ll never win.” 

Zayn’s parents might’ve scolded him for such an abrasive comment, but Zayn knows where its intentions come from, so he merely matches the boy’s glare and starts to creep forward menacingly. “We’ll see about that.” 

Amir turns and runs from the paint stained hands that his Baba’s holding out in front of him threateningly. A high pitched squeal erupts from the boy when Zayn catches up with him and spins him around effortlessly in the air. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Zayn can see Liam staring at them through the window, startled at the sudden scream as he carries a few pieces of wood from the storage room back to the treehouse. 

“Liam!” Amir yells from his spot on the table where Zayn’s stood him up on, about ready to attack him with tickles. “Help!” But it’s too late, Zayn’s already scooped him up and gently tosses him onto the nearby couch to do his damage. 

— 

“On a scale from 1-10,” Zayn puts forward as he wraps up the leftover vegan pizza for an after school snack tomorrow. 

Leaning back in his seat, stuffed, Liam contemplates his answer. “The crust was actually really good. Better than normal I’d say.” 

“But…” Zayn knows there’s an underlying criticism somewhere. 

“I’m just not used to the nut cheese,” the builder defends, though Zayn wouldn’t have thought as much with how many slices Liam had taken. “If I had it all the time I reckon I’d get used to it. It’s not horrible.” 

“Worked up an appetite then?” 

Liam shakes his head, “not as much as usual. Today’s been easy labour - put up the door, drilled down the other in the floor, and attached the railings.” 

Peeking out the window above the sink allows for Zayn to see a practically finished treehouse sitting proudly at the back of the lot. “What’s the afternoon hold?” 

“It’s too humid to spray the insulation, so Amir…” The boy looks up from his colouring book, eyes shining with eager obedience at what sounds like Liam needing him for something. “Do you want to go with me to pick out a tyre for the swing?” 

Zayn would’ve thought Liam had asked the boy to go on a shopping spree at Hamleys instead of a quick pop around to the local car repair shop with how manically he was nodding. 

“Can I Baba?” 

There was absolutely no way Zayn could say no to the puppy dog eyes Amir was sending his way. Still, as much as he trusted Liam with his home, he wasn’t sure about leaving him with his flesh and blood. 

“Of course you’re welcome to come as well,” Liam adds as if he can read Zayn’s mind. 

“Pleaseeee?” 

Little does Amir know, his begging isn’t needed; Zayn’s already on board. “Your truck will fit his car seat, right?” 

The boy doesn’t even wait to hear Liam’s answer, he’s already packing up his crayons in their box. 

“The back will, yeah.” A rogue crayon rolls towards Liam, causing him to flick it back towards Amir. “You’ll just have to push your seat forward a little.” 

The answer isn’t the most comforting for Zayn to hear, especially given the family’s traumatic past with cars and misfortunes, but as long as Amir’s snug to his liking, Zayn won’t be what holds them back from the outing. 

“Alright, let me grab my wallet and keys and we’ll meet you outside,” Zayn says, shutting the fridge, where he’s placed the last few slices of pizza. 

— 

Once he’s made sure Amir’s shoes are tied properly and the boy’s zipped up his jacket, Zayn moves on to configuring his car seat behind the folded front passenger’s seat. Amir swings his feet back and forth as soon as he’s buckled in, brimming with excitement at the loudness of the truck’s engine versus his Baba’s quiet sedan’s. Everything went fine fitting the plastic booster seat, yet Zayn still adjusts his seat forward until his knees are practically shoved up against the glove box. He’d gladly lose his legs if it meant his son wouldn’t suffer an ounce of brain damage from a high impact hit. Or fender bender, Zayn could care less. 

Seeing Liam behind the wheel of the pickup, one arm resting on the window and the other lazily steering, is unexpectedly attractive to Zayn, in the most innocent of ways. The man’s got a sense of belonging while sitting in the driver’s seat of _his_ car that’s so indicative of his line of work, that it casts an air of charisma around him that Zayn’s not sure the male knows exists, or realizes he’s even capable of. It makes Zayn relax, any tension releasing from his body because Liam’s got everything under control. 

Luckily the feeling stays when they pull up to a scrap yard on the east side of town and Zayn finds himself even more out of his element than usual when it came to the treehouse. 

“Is this the place you used to go to when you were younger?” He asks after the person manning the front gate nods at Liam in familiar greeting. 

“No, I’m from Wolverhampton,” Liam clarifies as he parks in what looks to be, the car graveyard. There are abandoned engines, bent in doors, greasy wheel rims, you name it. “Since moving to Sheffield, this has been my replacement yard.” 

Just when Zayn was starting to think he finally made friends with a Sheffield native. Back to Amir being the only real _natural_ citizen of the city. 

“When’d you move?” 

“After I graduated,” the builder replies, making sure that Zayn gets Amir out from his seat alright before getting down from the cab. “I got hired on a long term development project, so I had to move out here,” he continues when he comes around the front of the truck. “Transferred B&Q locations and liked it enough not to move back.” 

Which put Liam in town around a year before Zayn arrived. He didn’t even want to let his mind wander to the what if’s he could create that revolved around them possibly crossing paths without realizing in the past seven years. 

“The tyres are this way,” Liam nods towards the path carved out between rusted mufflers to his right. “Come on.” 

Out of his parental instinct, Zayn grabs Amir’s hand. He’s not in the mood for a tetanus shot trip to the A&E today. 

“Whoa,” Amir gapes when they reach their destination, which consists of a sea of tyres piled up to the heavens. 

Stopping in front of the several mountains lined up next to each other, Liam motions to the rubber, “Pick whichever one you want.” 

Immediately, Amir detaches himself from his Baba and makes a break for the black heaps. 

“Be careful,” Zayn admonishes, prepared to climb up after the boy if he so much as breathed in the wrong direction. 

“He’ll be fine.” 

Easy for Liam to say. He didn’t have his whole world bundled up in a Wolverine raincoat. 

“We’re both right here. Neither one of us will let anything happen to him.” 

_Us?_

Liam had a heart of gold, that much was evident to Zayn from how he treated Amir right off the bat, but voicing his joint dedication to keeping the five year old safe from harm, had the Father awestruck. Internally of course. He wasn’t about to let Liam see how much the sentiment had affected him. 

“You ever get your hands dirty?” 

Zayn’s eyes tear away from observing Amir pick apart the tyres closest to the ground to dissect the man next to him. “Like you do?” 

“With my work, yeah,” Liam elaborates, the words earning him a smirk from Zayn at the confirmation that their heads were in the same place enough that Liam needed to clarify what he meant. 

“I used to hand my Dad tools in the garage when he’d work on our car.” A small echo noise causes Zayn to look back at Amir. His heart settles when he attributes the sound to Amir testing out a tyre’s durability by kicking it. “Other than that, no. I’ve got absolutely no experience with any power tools at all. What about you?” He dishes back. “Ever do any art?” 

“I told you, co-” 

“Besides designing anything construction related,” Zayn argues, hoping that him cutting Liam off won’t start a war shrouded in podcast proofs. 

The male takes some time to think, most likely trying to come up with a compelling enough secondary school drawing that stands out in his short art career as a pupil in a required class. It was what most people did whenever they tried to talk to Zayn about _their_ experience in art once upon a time. 

“Does stained glass count?” Liam inquires, eyes set on the small boy starting to climb upwards on the treads. 

Zayn frowns to himself in thought, “Yeah, I suppose it does. Even though I know you’re just going to tell me it was for some bathroom window somewhere.” 

“Actually it wasn’t.” 

If Amir wasn’t one wrong foot placement away from falling inside a middle ring, Zayn would look to Liam with an abundance of curiosity. “No?” 

“No,” the male repeats. “It was a gift I made for my grandma. She had a sunroom in her house that I loved to sit in when it rained so I could watch the drops fall against the walls. I thought it’d be the perfect gift for someone with a room made of glass.” 

Liam’s explanation begs Zayn’s question, “What was the picture?” 

“A hummingbird,” the male answers simply. 

Of course it would be the smallest, most complicated creature to piece together. Anything too easy for Liam to fabricate with his hands would be a crime. 

“Amir,” Zayn barks, “that’s high enough.” A sigh falls from his lips when he sees how black the boy’s hands have gotten from touching all the rubber as soon as Amir waves from his spot amidst the tyres. 

Yeah, Zayn was definitely a way cooler parent than his were for letting his son do something as reckless as this. The climb would’ve been an activity that five year old Zayn yearned to do, but wouldn’t dare try in the presence of either adult for fear of getting reprimanded the rest of the week. 

“I found the one that I want, but I can’t reach it,” the little boy hollers down. 

Their own youth forgotten, Liam and Zayn walk up to the bottom of the pile Amir’s ascended. “Point to it cautiously and I’ll get it,” the builder instructs, getting ready to climb in case the choice calls for it. 

Sure enough, Amir points _inside_ the mass, near to where he’s situated. “It’s got a lot of white on it.” 

“You found a white wall?” Liam sounds impressed, not taking any time at all to get to the section the boy’s at. “Those are pretty rare in a place like this. Lemme see…” Another point gets Liam nodding, “that’s a white wall alright. Go back down to your Baba and I’ll get it.” 

Hearing Liam use the Eastern language for the second time sounds different than the first. Maybe it’s because he’s been around the two Malik’s long enough to not think twice about using the term, therefore it just rolls off his tongue. Or perhaps it’s the _way_ he uses it to make Amir feel like it’s not another part of his life that’s statistically speaking, not normal, that makes the difference. Either way, Zayn’s finding it harder to stick to the slow pace he’s set himself with Liam the more the man keeps ticking all his boxes. 

“Let me see the damage,” he says to Amir once the boy’s safely made it back to his side. When Zayn sees the black palms that Amir’s holding out for him to inspect, he shakes his head. “You’re gonna have a long bath tonight, that’s for sure.” 

“Can you two move way off to the side?” Liam asks, his voice strained by the work he’s doing getting the unwanted tyres off Amir’s selection. “A few might tumble when I get a good grip and I don’t want you getting hurt.” 

Shooing Amir behind him, Zayn does as he’s told, making sure there’s ample space between them and the injury zone. 

If he ever had any doubts about Liam’s strength (he didn’t), they were annihilated by the man’s show of yanking out the special choice tyre. It took Liam a few strenuous pulls to even dislodge the thing from its buried position, but he did, a few unlodging along the way and tumbling down like he had predicted. He might’ve scuffed up his cherry red tee and added a few more marks to his overused blue jeans, but the tyre was now free to shove down the mountain and topple it’s way to the ground. 

Seeing what Amir had picked out, Zayn was proud. It looked like it belonged on a truck like Liam’s from sixty years ago; the vintage look was sick. 

“Alright.” Liam claps his hands together to rid them of any dirt or residue, although Zayn doesn’t know why; he still needs to roll the thing to the truck which will surely have his calloused hands amassing more grime along the way. “One tyre for a Calvin and Hobbs tyre swing, check.” 

Zayn can tell Amir’s desperate to assist Liam in pushing the rubber to the bed of the truck by the way he keeps looking behind him as they walk back to the car. If he asked, there’s no doubt in Zayn’s mind that the other adult would let Amir lend a helping hand, but the little boy stays quiet, sticking to checking on the tyre every couple meters until they reach the truck and Liam lets his arms do all the talking, hoisting the wheel up onto the bed. 

“Can I sit in the back with it?” 

Now _that_ was a question Zayn was shutting down before Liam even had the chance to open his mouth. “No. You’re sitting in your car seat, let’s go.” 

Liam shrugs in defeat when Amir turns to him for back up. With no sign of winning, the boy relents and climbs into the back, buckling himself up quickly so he can turn his head and make sure that he can at least see the tyre from where he’s sitting. 

On the drive out, Liam hands the man at the gate a twenty pound note for the find, promising to be back soon with more business. 

“Is your chariot warm enough your Highness?” Liam looks back in the rear view mirror to catch eyes with Amir, a smile on both males’ lips at the rhetoric that the man keeps up with. 

“I’m warm,” the boy confirms with a nod, “but can we put on music?” 

Zayn bites back a wide smile, _that’s my son._

“Any requests?” Stopped at the roundabout, Liam hands his phone over to the other man in the front row even though he’s still speaking directly to Amir. 

“Whatever,” Zayn hears in response, scrolling through Liam’s phone and picking an age appropriate pop song that brings an electric energy to the car’s interior. 

In the same way as he had on the drive there, Zayn sneaks glances over at the driver every now and again. He watches as Liam shifts gears with unbridled ease that only adds to the boyish charm Zayn’s starting to find himself becoming more drawn to each time he’s in the other’s presence. He expects to stay in comfortable endearment until they arrive back home, but Amir’s got other plans. 

“Baba, can we stop at the goat place?” 

When Liam turned onto the autoway, Zayn knew it was only a matter of time before he heard the question. He was hopeful that Amir wouldn’t put together where they were in relation to the petting zoo, but Sheffield wasn’t terribly large and the boy was much more aware than others his age might be, so he should’ve known better. 

“We went a few weeks ago,” Zayn reminds his son. “You want to go again?” 

“Yeah.” 

Amir’s response is so easily put and genuine, that if the artist was the one in the driver's seat, he’d have no choice but to give in, but that’s not the case today. 

“What’s the goat place?” Liam asks innocently, briefly glancing over at Zayn when the road doesn’t require his full attention. 

“There’s a miniature farm off the next road that lets kids play with the animals,” Zayn informs him, turning down the music some. “They’ve got a family of goats.” 

“Say no more.” 

“Yes,” Amir whispers in triumph from the back seat. 

After shaking his head in disbelief at who the man sat next to him was, Zayn gives him the appropriate directions 

— 

“How do they fit so many animals in such an inner city location?” 

“I’ve got no idea,” Zayn replies while fixing the collar of his jumper. 

Thankfully the clouds have continued to hold off from gracing them with their water. Zayn hopes it stays that way for the time being because he’s not about to spend however long Amir deems necessary at the farm if it starts to rain. 

The five year old’s in paradise leading the way to the enclosure for larger animals. How he’s managed to keep the same enthusiasm for the place since Zayn first brought him here when he was three, the artist has no idea. 

“I’ve lived here for years and I never knew this place existed.” Liam leans on the wooden fence as Zayn opens the gate for Amir to enter. 

“It’s tucked away,” Zayn writes off. “I don’t blame you.” 

A sand coloured goat strays away from the heard and comes up to the two men, hopeful that they’ll have a snack to offer it. 

“I’ve got nothing for you mate.” Showing his empty hands, Zayn reaches out to see if it’ll let him give it a friendly pet, but the animal lets out an alarming bleat instead. “Yeah, yeah,” Zayn mumbles in response. 

“Blehhhh.” 

Liam’s sudden burst of noise has Zayn raising an eyebrow in childish humour. 

“Blehhhh,” the man repeats, this time eliciting a similar response from the goat. He turns to Zayn with an elated expression. 

“Do you want to get in there with Amir?” Zayn asks sarcastically, though if Liam did join the boy, he wouldn’t pass any judgement. 

Liam shakes his head, “just wanted to make sure we spoke the same language.” 

“Glad to know I’ve got a translator on hand.” Keeping his eyes locked with the other’s, Zayn imprints the warmth they hold into his mind for his memory and his memory only. 

It’s joined with other moments that Zayn doesn't want to forget any time soon. Like the look of amazement Amir gives Liam when he volunteers to hold the bearded dragon and it starts to crawl up his arm, the man welcoming the new experience instead of letting fear take over. Or the crinkled up smile that Zayn will never tire of seeing that comes from being beaten by Amir in a staring contest over tea at the farm’s adjoining cafe, and every rematch thereafter. 

Sipping his cup of English Breakfast, Zayn can feel his attachment to the handsome man across from him grow. How could he not with the way Liam had made sure to avoid the hot chocolate on the menu when he ordered them all drinks? How could _anyone_ avoid feelings for a person who says “of course I would rather go to the park across the street than go back to work”? 

Sitting on the swing next to Amir and watching Liam take a call in between falsifying how far he could launch himself from the swing so the little boy could feel superior, Zayn doesn’t know how he’ll be able to get over things if Liam doesn’t wind up accepting his offer for a date eventually. There were seven something billion people in the world, yet he wasn’t sure if he’d ever find someone as suitable for his son, never mind Zayn himself. 

Everything Zayn did was for Amir. If he was going to seriously start dating someone, they needed to be just as compatible with his son as they were with Zayn. Liam was that person. So far at least. Everyone had their share of baggage, but as of now, the man seemed pretty perfect in Zayn’s eyes. 

As Amir makes friends on the playground, Zayn finds out that Liam once broke his arm after losing his balance hanging upside down from the monkey bars. The contractor immediately reassures Zayn that Amir is much more coordinated than Liam had been when he was a kid as soon as the older man shows signs of worry at the boy’s whereabouts on the equipment. To eliminate any lingering worry, Liam shares a much safer memory the environment brings up about an ex he had who loved to eat ice cream in the park, even during the winter months. 

There’s an intimacy that Zayn gets from Liam that afternoon that he hasn’t been given access to before thanks to the one sided narratives; a far cry from the type that he aimed for initially when they met, but the kind he’s looking for now. In a way, Zayn feels selfish for not talking nearly as much as Liam does. It’s not that he doesn’t have his own stories to tell, he’s sure Liam would love to hear all about the time he got stuck in a lift for an hour in secondary school and was convinced that that was the end, he’d just rather hear Liam’s voice be the one to bring an otherwise mundane anecdote to life. 

He’s like that, Liam is - a mild wind that breathes life into you, only to leave an after scent of musky cologne in its wake to remind you who it is that’s responsible for stealing the air right back when he smiles. 

At this point in his life, Zayn lives for the thrill of the give and take. 

“You really don’t have to pay for us,” he tells Liam after the man’s footing the bill at the Persian restaurant they stopped at for an early dinner after a tiring couple hours at the park. 

“I’ve accepted your asterisk at the end of our coffee agreement,” Liam disputes, signing the receipt that prints out from the waiter’s card machine. “I’m not letting you tack dinners onto that.” 

Zayn’s initial thought of ‘so there will be dinners in the future for you to pay?’ goes unsaid. The older man simply thanks Liam, which prompts Amir to do the same before they all pile back into the truck. 

“Can I please sit in the back with the tyre?” Amir tries again even though the seatbelt is already securing him to his car seat. 

There’s no telling who the boy’s asking at this point since he’s clearly comfortable enough with Liam that Amir could very well be asking for his permission just as much as he was his Father’s. 

It’s only a ten minute drive back to their house, but Zayn’s not budging. While he’s never blamed himself for Ava’s death, kicked himself for being the one to tell her to go out that night or for not driving her himself, he certainly wouldn’t be able to stand staying on this planet if anything happened to Amir that he could have easily prevented. 

Liam on the other hand… 

“He could hop in the bed just from the stop sign on your street corner to the house,” the contractor mutters quietly to Zayn. 

By the way Amir chimes in “I promise I won’t stand up”, it doesn’t look like Liam did all that great of a job keeping the comment to the front row. And while Amir probably thought he was helping amp up his case, he was actually doing the opposite; Zayn hadn’t even considered the repercussions for him not sitting still. 

Liam’s already pulling out of the restaurant parking lot before the other man gives his final verdict. In fact, Zayn puts off replying to Amir all together until they reach the stop sign closest to their house. He can tell from the way Liam checks to make sure no one’s behind them when he takes an extra long pause at the corner that he’s waiting to see if Zayn will fall victim to his son’s charm. 

“Fine,” he gives in, opening the passenger door and folding his seat down for an already unbuckled Amir to climb out. “But you have to sit in between my legs.” 

Amir launches himself up into Zayn’s arms in excitement when he’s out of the car, sitting down immediately once his Dad puts him in the back of the truck. “And _you_,” Zayn says in a stern voice to Liam before shutting his door. “Go over ten miles per hour or make one harsh stop, and you’ll need to check your coffee for poison starting Saturday.” 

Zayn slams the door shut without waiting to hear for a response, hopping into the back with Amir and leaning up against the wall adjacent to the truck cab. He taps on the window above his head to let the driver know that they’re situated and he can continue on. 

Amir’s tight grip on the arm that’s around his waist and the smile that reaches his eyes, is the reason why Zayn had caved. It was another activity his parents would’ve forbade, and for good reason too, it’s highly illegal, not to mention dangerous in most cases, but like Liam had said earlier in the day - neither one of them would let anything happen to the boy. Not with Liam at the wheel and not with Zayn acting as Amir’s personal seatbelt. 

“That was so wicked!” The five year old exclaims when Liam’s parking, jumping down with the help of the man when he pulls down the hatch. 

How Amir still has so much energy in his tiny body, Zayn has no idea. He’s absolutely shattered and he hadn’t partaken in hardly any real form of exercise other than a couple rounds of tag that day. Even then, with Amir’s short legs, the running around didn’t account to that great of a total distance in the end. Between the two adults, Liam was the one who wound up exerting himself a lot more, which Zayn chalked up to the male being taken advantage of as a new playmate by Amir. 

“Do you need any help?” Zayn asks as soon as both of his feet are back on the ground and he sees Liam channeling all his strength to pull the tyre from the middle of the bed, to the end. 

“Yeah,” Liam huffs. “Could you open the side gate for me? I’m just gonna roll it to the back, but any halt in momentum isn’t ideal.” 

Not wasting any time, Zayn does as he’s told, unlatching the rod iron gate and holding it open for the man to enter the back yard with ease. 

“Well,” a small chuckle comes from the younger male after he’s tipped the tyre onto the grass below the structure it would soon be attached to. “Today did _not_ go as I expected it to.” 

Thinking of himself, Zayn sees Liam’s minor setback of an afternoon as a win win - he got to spend time with both him, and his son (bonus points for it being outside the backyard they were currently standing in) while costing Liam extra building hours as a result. 

“No, it was a great day,” Amir finishes for him. 

Unable to contain his love for his son, Zayn picks the boy up to carry the rest of the way to the house. “Go upstairs and turn on the bath, yeah?” He instructs when he’s putting Amir down inside. “I’m just going to get your car seat from Liam’s truck and say goodbye, then I’ll be up.” 

At the sound of Liam leaving, Amir doesn’t waste any time in wrapping his arms around the man’s hips. “Thanks for taking us to the tyre place today.” 

Zayn awards himself ten points for nailing the ‘thank you’ lesson. 

“You’re welcome,” Liam replies, hugging the boy close. “Saturday we’ll hang it up. Sound good?” He takes the nod against his thigh as response, only letting up on the embrace when Amir does to trudge up the stairs. 

Zayn holds the door open for Liam, making sure that it doesn’t close fully behind him when he’s taking the first few steps towards the builder’s truck. “He’s right, it was a pretty great day.” 

While Zayn goes around to the passenger side of the car, Liam walks to the back to close the hatch. “Being around him makes me feel young again,” the builder thinks out loud, returning to the hood and leaning his hip against the metal as he watches Zayn approach his figure. “I miss that.” 

“You make it sound like we’re ancient,” the older male accuses, swinging the plastic seat lightly at his side. 

The setting sun’s highlighting Liam’s cheeks with more red then they usually carry and it makes Zayn’s fingers itch with restlessness. He desperately needs a paint brush in his right hand to document the tint with something drastic like short streaks of purple and yellow. 

“You ok?” 

Zayn licks his lips to get his mind back in the conversation that was currently being had. “Yeah, um, sorry I just got this idea.” He shakes his head, “I’d ask you in for a poison-free coffee, to talk about the rest of the build of course.” Liam smirks at the blatant lie. “But I really shouldn’t put this off.” 

Shock flashes over Liam’s face for a split second when he hears Zayn voluntarily deny himself time for flirting. “Sure, yeah,” he nods. “I get it.” 

Zan’s not sure that he does, but he gives him a grateful smile anyway, “See you Saturday?” 

“Eight AM sharp,” Liam confirms, pushing off from the truck and sending Zayn one last dazzling smile for the day. 

⚒⚒⚒⚒⚒ 

It’s a smile that sticks with the painter for the rest of the week and helps keep his inspiration full when the person behind it can’t be around to model. He’s picked up a few more commission pieces for the upcoming month, so Zayn doesn’t have a terrible amount of time to dedicate to Liam’s colourful portrait, but it’s also why he’s aching to finish it soon - so he can focus on the paid work without having a nagging voice in his head telling him to go back to the canvas that’s got a different, more meaningful kind of worth than the other three paychecks combined. Only a handful more hours and then he’ll be able to set it in the ‘finished’ pile that’s starting to intrude into the studio’s workspace from having a creative mind that doesn’t know how to stop when there’s no more space on the walls to tastefully hang more pieces. 

Sadly, Liam’s might end up turning into a sadistic reminder of someone Zayn had in his sights, yet couldn’t grasp a hold of if nothing comes of their knowing one another. 

He wasn’t quite sure what Liam had left to do with the treehouse, it looked damn near complete to Zayn, but the contractor hadn’t mentioned Saturday being his last day, so he figures he has until the end of the weekend at the very least to secure some sort of post-treehouse relationship, even if that includes a platonic friendship that would test Zayn’s self restraint to the max. As long as Liam doesn’t do anything to change his feelings, Sunday will be the day. 

“Why does he look like an alien?” Amir asks Saturday morning, head propped up by both fists on the dining room table as he watches Liam slip into an all white, hazmat-like suit in the backyard. 

The two Malik’s were still busy with breakfast when Liam showed up that morning, going back to eating when the contractor took Zayn’s cup of coffee and excused himself to go spray the interior walls of the treehouse with insulation foam before it got too hot. Apparently, that required a whole get up. 

“Do you think aliens are white and not green?” 

As he takes a bite of his toast, Amir thinks up a good answer to his Baba’s question. “What if aliens were invisible?” 

“What if aliens wore masks like those?” 

Liam’s pulling a full face mask over his head, adjusting the straps and twisting his head around to make sure that it can’t fall off. 

“I sure hope they don’t. He looks ugly,” the boy wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, any leftover bread crumbs falling into his lap. 

Zayn doesn’t think that’s possible, but he still agrees anyway for the hell of it, “the ugliest.” 

— 

The sound of the back door handle being pulled open grabs Zayn’s attention in the front studio. He’s about to shout at Amir to come back inside and turn off the TV before he goes out when he hears Liam’s voice say the boy’s name first, signaling that _he_ was the one who opened the door and making Zayn feel guilty for almost scolding his son without reason. 

“I put up the tyre swing,” the builder declares. “You wanna come out and make sure I made it the right height?” 

If Zayn had to guess, he’d say that Liam already knows he’s got the right amount of slack hanging, he’s simply doing what he does best - being thoughtful. 

As soon as the TV turns off, Zayn smiles to himself in pride at the boy’s obedience before returning to his painting where all he has left to do is add the finishing touches to Liam’s knuckles. 

“You put the slide up too!” Amir exclaims when he gets outside, sprinting to the structure, but not knowing what to do first: hop onto the tyre that’s calling his name or climb the slide upwards rather than ride down it. 

“I did,” Liam nods once he’s made it in front of the trifecta of trees. “I’d let you try it, but I don’t want you going up yet. The insulation needs to dry until tomorrow and I want to avoid you breathing in any left over fumes, so stick to the swing for now.” 

Amir’s features only fall for a moment before he jumps at the opportunity to drift above the ground in the middle of the black tube, sticking his body through the hole and pushing off the grass with his feet to lazily float around. 

“Good?” Liam watches the boy kick harder to reach greater heights when his feet near the ground again. 

“Yeah.” Swinging back and forth, Amir stares up at Liam. “Do you wanna try?” 

“I already did,” the man discloses, stepping forward so he can push the five year old with more force than the child’s self-propelling gives him. “Had to make sure that it was safe before you got on.” 

Instead of whining that he technically wasn’t the first to ride the swing, Amir smiles at the wind blowing through his hair. “I love it.” 

Liam gives the boy one more powerful shove before tending to the white rope that’s laying out near the two slanted pieces of wood protruding from the front of the landing. “I’m glad to hear that. If the king wasn’t happy, I’m sure I’d be sent to the dungeons.” 

Laughter fills the backyard. “I’m a nice prince king,” Amir states in as serious of a tone as he can muster up, the duel crowning giving Liam a smile of his own. “I don’t have a dungeon.” 

“You really are a nice prince king if that’s the case.” Liam takes the end of the rope and starts to weave it in and out of the hole’s he’s pre-drilled into the sides of the boards. “So, what are you going to decorate the inside with when I finish tomorrow?” 

Immediately Amir’s eyes are shining. “You’re gonna be done tomorrow?” 

Liam nods, “I just have to put the interior walls up to seal in the insulation and that’ll be it.” Sneaking a glance over at the five year old, he sees that he’s trying to position himself so that he’s sitting on top of the tyre. “Are you going to ask your Baba to paint the inside like he did with your room?” 

After his second attempt at pulling himself up by the rope, Amir succeeds in sitting with one leg on either side of the attachment. “He didn’t do all of it, I helped too.” 

“You did?” 

“Yeah.” The boy holds on tight when Liam side steps the meter distance between them to push him again. “Some parts Baba just painted the shape and I got to fill it in.” 

Back at his weaving work, Liam raises his eyebrows, “so the _both_ of you are talented artists?” 

“Baba’s way better than me,” Amir talks down, leaning his head on the rope as he watches Liam. “He’s painting a picture of you you know...” 

The worker turns his head sharply, “he is?” 

“Yeah,” Amir replies easily, smiling when Liam comes over to administer another push. “He mixed a bunch of yellow with the green and brown in your hair this morning. It’s sick.” 

Shock still covers Liam’s features, but he does manage to grin at the compliment that was so obviously stolen from his older counterpart. “I hope he lets me see it one day,” the man thinks out loud. 

“Do you want to see what _I_ made this week at school?” Not waiting to hear Liam’s answer, Amir jumps off the tyre. “I’ll go get my folder.” 

Zayn’s about to close the backdoor behind him, but stops when he sees his son running in his direction. “What’s up? 

“Gonna show Liam my art I did this week!” Amir responds as he jets past his Baba into the house. 

All Zayn can do is let the imaginary dust settle around him before walking out to where Liam’s threading, what Zayn assumes to be, the front rope ladder. 

“Talking about art without me?” He starts the conversation, eyeing the newly erected tyre swing. 

“Yeah,” Liam glances up from his squatting position where he’s lacing material into the lower holes. “Did you get that idea down on Sunday?” 

Cautiously, Zayn grabs the rope and stands on the tyre with his left foot balancing him from the inside of the rubber. “I did. Just finished what it was for actually.” 

“Oh yeah?” When he stands, Liam stares at the other man riding the swing. “What was it of?” 

It’d be simple to tell the truth. Hell, it might even help Zayn win over that date he was desperate for after the impromptu outing the weekend before, but nerves get the best of him and force Zayn to reply “just a portrait that I had to get out of my system” instead. 

“So it wasn’t for someone?” 

Zayn eyes Liam carefully before he answers. “Not exactly, no.” With the way Liam stays quiet, the artist isn’t sure how to interpret the silence. 

“I was telling Amir that I’ll be finished tomorrow,” the man says, changing the subject shortly after his small pause. “I don’t know if he has any furniture that he wants to put inside, but I can always fit it in for you if you want.” 

With his suspicions that there’s only one day left in Liam’s building process being proven true, Zayn has to actively keep himself from frowning. “Actually I was thinking about ordering things online. Just a small desk and table,” he informs the other, the tyre practically motionless now from losing its kinetic energy. “Maybe a few shelves, I’m not sure yet. I guess I’ll have to ask him.” 

“If you decide to do it yourself, I’d suggest bringing the package up first before you open it,” Liam advises while staring at his work from behind to make sure he didn’t accidentally skip any holes. “If you want me to do it, just text me when they come and we can work something out.” 

Suddenly losing his enthusiasm for the swing, Zayn hops off. “Can’t I keep paying you in coffee?” 

“I meant time wise,” Liam corrects. “I’m not going to charge you for coming to put together a kids desk from Ikea.” 

Usually Zayn would laugh, because it was an alright joke and because it was _Liam_, but he’s not really in the mood since the topic revolves around an odd phase of life after the treehouse. “What if it was a custom designed desk from Scandinavia?” 

It seems like Liam isn’t at all affected by the lack of future visits to the Malik household by the way he laughs softly at the horrible joke, which almost makes Zayn feel even worse. “God, I don’t know. Then I might have to send you a hefty invoice,” the man throws back. 

_Amir, where are you?_ Zayn thinks to himself, wishing that the little boy would show up with his pictures already so he wouldn’t need to hear more of how Liam wasn’t nearly as affected by the construction project coming to an end as he was. 

“Does a turkey sandwich sound okay for lunch?” He asks, doing what he can to fake indifference until his son came to save the day. At least he has their usual lunch break to look forward to. 

“Actually I’ve got another job this afternoon. I’m just going to finish up this ladder and then head out, but thanks.” 

“Oh,” Zayn all but croaks in acknowledgment. “Good for you. For getting closer to opening.” 

A sweet grin’s sent the artist’s way, “thanks. It’s just a back shed, nothing difficult. Doesn’t even really pay all that much either, it’s just good experience.” Zayn knows for a fact Liam’s ages away from needing shed experience, so he kicks at the grass to busy himself. “And every penny counts, right?” 

“Right.” 

It’s a measly response, one that Liam can surely smell is fishy from its harsh difference to the usual suave one that Zayn always tries to supply in order to impress Liam. Nevertheless, he leaves it at that and doesn’t lift his head until Amir’s finally resurfacing with his entire backpack. 

“I wanted to show you my backpack too!” He shouts as he takes his first few steps out of the house and towards where the two men are standing. “Isn’t it brilliant?” 

“You paint backpacks too?” Liam’s voice sounds both impressed and also completely expectant. 

Zayn shrugs in his spot, “I just paint.” 

When Amir’s close enough, Liam puts down the rope he’s started to vertically weave with the previously laid lines to accept the bag being handed to him. He takes his time inspecting the lion that’s made up of nearly every colour of the rainbow. And not in a perfectly neat fashion either. Zayn’s taken the same approach with his paintings and let the outline of the animal look like it was placed _on top _of the colour work instead of the other way around. 

“It’s amazing,” Liam praises, running his hand over the bumpy areas that Zayn had used exceptionally thick amounts of paint on before returning the rucksack. 

All the creator can say is “thanks” before Amir starts to explain how he was able to finish as many pieces as he did that week based on the amount of class time that was allotted for art. Zayn’s never been more grateful for his son to rudely cut him off. 

Or for not letting him get a word in for the remainder of the art showing. 

Watching Liam twist the rope around itself occasionally to strengthen its hold and add to the aesthetic, makes Zayn hate this attachment that’s snuck up on him more than he hates not having it in the first place. He doesn’t own the man’s time, nor is he blind in thinking that he did, it’s just that Zayn never really took the time to think about how Liam’s life functioned outside of the fenced in backyard. The open mic night was the closest thing he got to that, yet it wasn’t until now that Zayn saw its importance. 

Even though Amir’s run out of pictures to show off, that doesn’t stop him from still trying to engage with Liam. From the depths of his backpack, the boy pulls out two toy lightsabers. 

“Did you take those with you to school on Friday?” Zayn asks, taken aback by the reveal. 

“No, I put them in there now.” Without thinking twice, Amir gestures for Liam to take the red one, not caring if the man’s hands were already preoccupied. 

“Um, excuse you.” Zayn grabs the toy before Liam has the chance to. “The red’s mine. What do you think you’re doing?” 

“I want to fight Liam,” Amir defends, knowing full well that his Baba’s only joking around. “I already know your moves.” 

Feigning insulted, Zayn takes the boy’s blue saber and unsheaths it. “He’s going to have to battle me first for the right to use it.” 

Liam looks between the older male and the handle that’s waiting for him. If he can tell Zayn’s been feeling off the past twenty minutes, he accepts the toy to make him feel better, abandoning his work completely. 

Flicking his wrist to extend his own weapon, Zayn backs up so they’re able to duel in the expanse of the grass. 

Both use dramatic spins and gestures for the five year old who wouldn’t dare let his eyes look away from the fight in case he misses seeing who comes out victorious. Amir’s responsible for getting Liam to this point - eyes focused so he’s not tricked by one of Zayn’s fake swings - but Zayn’s the one who’s reaping the benefits, soaking in the moment then and there and not letting his emotions get the best of him during what could be the last couple days he has with this one of a kind Jedi in navy blue. 

🌳🌳🌳🌳🌳 

When Amir leaves his spot in the front studio window like clockwork to open the door for the person he’s been waiting for the next morning, Zayn uses the movement as a signal to start making Liam’s coffee. 

“I like your shirt” he can hear Amir say once the contractor’s inside. On any other day the comment might have stolen Zayn’s attention, but he’s concentrating on pouring the lactose free milk into the mug like he had practiced the afternoon before when he decided on really tapping into his old barista skills to give Liam a final cup worth remembering. 

The leaf shape doesn’t turn out half bad. 

“You’re something else,” Liam expresses with a good humoured shake of the head when he takes a seat at the breakfast bar and sees the art that’s waiting for him. 

“So are you.” The firting’s innocent enough that Zayn doesn’t hold himself back with Amir in the room. “Took me a few tries to get it as good as the old days, but I’ve still got it.” 

Liam takes out his phone from his back pocket to snap a quick picture of the light brown outline before taking a sip. “Can you do any others?” 

Thinking about how many brews he’s made the other over the past month and a half has Zayn grateful that he’s only just now decided to impress via latte art, otherwise he would’ve had to scour the internet for tutorials to expand his design capabilities to more than just the few he can currently create. “I know how to do a heart, a bear, and the leaf,” he nods to the mug Liam’s drinking from. 

“A bear?” The man licks his lips to get rid of any left over liquid that might have gotten into his short mustache. 

“Not like, its whole body,” Zayn explains as he pours himself a cup, minus the milk. “Just his face and ears.” Saying it out loud makes the artist realize how impressive the image sounded. Maybe he should’ve done that instead of the leaf. 

“You’ll have to make it for me some other time.” 

The minute pause that Zayn takes bringing his mug to his lips doesn’t go unmissed by Liam, the man’s eyes not leaving the other’s now that he’s aware that his words have struck the spot he’s aimed for. 

“Yeah,” Zayn replies after he’s taken the time to process that the dread that had settled in the day before from having to accept that their regular interactions would be coming to an end, could leave his system now that Liam was hinting that that wouldn’t be the case. “I guess I will.” 

Thoughts swirl in Zayn’s head as to when that might be. He’s held himself off from pushing the idea like he had when Liam first started coming around, but the comment seems to have awakened the eagerness in the painter once more. 

“Just need to put the plywood walls up over the fill and sand down any areas that need it.” Zayn focuses on Liam’s soft, choppy hair that falls on his forehead instead of trying to translate what any of that means, or looked like. “Then I’ll come in and get you two for the final tour.” 

“Can I help with the sanding again?” Amir pipes up, already waiting by the backdoor for when Liam agreed. 

Taking a long sip from his mug, the builder raises his eyebrows at Zayn in amusement. “Of course,” he answers. “You should stay outside so I can call on you. Nailing the interior walls up won’t take me long with the gun.” 

And just like that, Amir’s pushing the door open and leading the way into the yard. 

Liam takes one more drink before he follows the five year old out, leaving Zayn to stare at his figure and notice that Amir was right, the white t-shirt sprinkled with red lightning bolts was pretty cool. 

— 

“Don’t sand _too_ much. We don’t want the finish to come out uneven.” 

Amir takes the piece of sandpaper that he’s holding in his right hand away from the wall Liam’s assigned him. 

“You did good,” the man compliments after running his bare hand over the lower portion of the wall that Amir was able to reach. “Let me do the top half and then we’ll be done. Why don’t you yell for your Baba?” 

The little boy doesn’t need to be told twice, exiting out the house door and grabbing onto the railing. “Baba!” 

“Do you want to go get your meerkat to show him too?” 

Amir looks over his shoulder at where Liam’s body is just barely visible. “No, I only want him to see it when it’s fully done.” 

“I don’t have anything else to do,” the man frowns to himself, standing to the side of the wall in front of him to get a different angle of the grain in order to make sure it was the right texture. 

“We still need to paint the inside,” the boy informs Liam matter of factly. “Then it’ll be done.” Not seeing his Dad moving from where he’s sitting inside, Amir tries yelling with his hands cupped around his mouth this time. “Babaaaa!” 

Zayn looks up from his laptop where he’s about to respond to an email when he hears Amir’s voice. A spike of worry runs through him at the shrill voice, but when he looks through the glass doors and sees his son waving his arms around to try and get his attention from the end of the yard, all anxiety disappears from Zayn’s body. 

“Ready?” He asks from the bottom of the rope ladder that he’s now standing in front of, staring up at the boy who’s bursting with joy at his Dad being able to finally see the treehouse in its entirety for the first time instead of the lower vantage point that he’s always observed from. 

“Yeah! Climb up!” 

This was the exact enthusiasm Zayn had always dreamed for his children to have when it came to any tangible thing he was able to give them that he could never afford growing up. In those ambitious visions he always had someone next to him to share the moment with, someone who he could tuck himself into later in the night and ramble about how fulfilled he felt by being able to provide this kind of life for his kids. The harsh reality was that it was one kid, and Zayn would very much be going to bed alone that night, but Amir’s hand tugging his when he got to the top replaced any fantasy he ever had. Zayn’s self-pride was more than satiated with this one boy and his elation. 

“Ta dah!” 

As if Amir had single handedly built the whole thing, he stretches out his arms to present the house portion of the structure to his Father. 

Standing so high off the ground gives Zayn a slightly queasy feeling in his stomach, but he shoves it down for the sake of his son. Maybe it was a good thing he didn’t have a treehouse of his own when he was a kid; the mild fear of heights that he has now might've been horribly exacerbated. 

“What do you think?” Liam shoves the square of sandpaper he’s holding into his back pocket when Zayn takes the first step in, a hopeful smile gracing his lips. 

_That this is what twenty thousand pounds has gotten me?_

As much as he wanted to provide a nice life for Amir, the paycheck to paycheck mindset that had driven him to dreaming in the first place, was berating Zayn for spending so much on what was essentially just a bunch of wood. 

Except he wasn’t listening because the treehouse was so much more than that. It was unreplicable craftsmanship. _Liam’s_ craftsmanship. 

“It’s…” Zayn stares at the empty walls around him - the same ones whose foundations he helped haul up and were now hidden behind thick plywood - trying to come up with a worthwhile way to express how incredible it all was. From the choice of wood for the paneling on the exterior of the house to the padlocked floor hatch that led to the wooden ladder below, Zayn couldn’t believe that just one person was responsible for the creation, save Niall’s help with the foundational bearings. He’d seen progress be made on the outside for five weeks, but being up in the air and witnessing the area that Amir will most likely lock himself in for the rest of his childhood, was nothing short of amazing. Because of that, he finishes his thoughts with “you should be proud of yourself” instead of a useless adjective that wouldn’t do the treehouse justice. 

Liam’s expectant gaze turns to one of modesty. “I take it that means you like it,” he reasons, tilting his head in curiosity. 

“More than you know.” The contractor’s bashful smile widens and his eyes brighten at Zayn’s validation. Zayn’s about to go on about how he’s not the person Liam should be concerned on winning over, it was Amir who was going to claim this as another part of his kingdom, but something catches his eye. “I don’t remember a sky light being included in your blueprint.” 

Looking up to where Zayn was staring at a third window in the center of the left roof slant, Liam takes a deep breath. “That’s because it wasn’t.” He clears his throat before beginning his explanation to the two Malik’s who are now eyeing him. “I thought it would bring in more natural light than the windows on the walls alone.” Zayn waits for him to continue patiently, knowing that there’s more to the story than Liam’s letting on by the way he looks so unsure of his next words. “Not just during the day, at night too. This way, if you’re in here and it’s dark, you won’t need a light; the brightest of the stars can illuminate the room.” 

“Mum!” 

Zayn’s glad Amir understood what Liam was referring to because he wasn’t sure he could find his voice in time to relay the message before the little boy would start asking for clarification. 

“I know I should’ve gotten your consent prior to going ahead and cutting a hole out of the roof, but I thought it’d make for a nice surprise.” Liam’s worry has visibility dissipated now that Amir’s shown his approval, which proves to Zayn that no matter if _he_ liked it or not, Liam had achieved what he sought out with the addition. Still, technically _Zayn_ was his client, not Amir. “If you don’t want it, I can board it up. It’s really not a problem.” 

“No, no,” Zayn rushes in an attempt to keep Liam from thinking he felt anything other than love for the unexpected gesture. “It’s staying.” He shakes his head and pulls Amir close to his left leg. “It’s definitely staying.” 

Liam keeps eye contact with the artist to communicate his gratitude for not yelling at him like other clients might for going against their original agreement. Zayn’s not quite sure if that’s the correct interpretation of the appreciative expression, but having gotten to know Liam’s honest character, he’s going to let himself believe that it is. 

For Zayn, he hopes his own facial features demonstrate his affection for the man which is accumulating at a rate he’s only ever experienced with the woman he was doing his best to not wish was on his right for him to wrap his arm around and fill the empty space. He wonders if she was, would he still be attracted to Liam like he is. Blinking away the thought, Zayn takes in the rest of the space. 

It’s barren, the minimal furniture that he’s looked into purchasing what will be the key to adding a homey vibe that the space is clearly lacking. Nonetheless, it’s perfect. There’s just enough room for Amir to play at his age now and for him to grow into, as evident by the way two full size adults currently fit alongside him. 

“I don’t think we could’ve asked for anything better,” Zayn adds, turning around to check out the door and seeing the handle match the rusty aesthetic of its hinges. 

“Well it’s not exactly done yet.” 

Confused, Zayn turns back around to show Liam how he needs for him to elaborate on that. 

“Yeah, we need to paint it Baba!” 

At the same time as the older man smiles, so does the younger, their eyes warm from the kind of endearment that could only come from the innocent energy of a child. 

“Does that mean I can put off paying you the other half I owe?” For a second Liam genuinely looks like he’s about to concede to Zayn’s question, so the artist holds out his hand to show he’s just kidding. “I’ve got the money, don’t worry.” 

“I was going to say,” Liam starts, wiping off any leftover sawdust from his hand, “you can just give it to me whenever you drop by the store for the paint.” 

Amir wiggles out of Zayn’s grasp to inspect other aspects of the structure outside of the house now that he was able to freely roam about the platform. The rails may be up now, but that doesn’t stop Zayn from standing in the doorway so he can keep an eye on both the boy, and Liam at the same time. So much for the railings eliminating his paternal worry. 

“Brave of you to assume that I wasn’t planning on going to one of your competitors,” Zayn teases now that he can breathe easier with a second confirmation that Liam plans on keeping him around one way or another. 

The man leans down to pick up his tool bag, looking around afterwards to make sure that he hasn’t left anything behind. “If you do, you can kiss your 20% discount goodbye.” 

They both know Zayn doesn’t need the handout, he’s told Liam that he’s doing just fine with his art, but the painter still loves that the offer was on Liam’s mind. “I’ll text you before we come in to make sure you’re there. I don’t want anyone else taking care of me.” 

Zayn can just make out Liam’s smirk as the male unlocks the latch of the square door on the ground that’s centered against the house’s back wall. “I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen,” he replies, not saying another word as he drops his bag down the exposed opening and then begins his descent down the ladder. 

🎨🎨🎨🎨🎨 

Getting through the week without post-construction blues was a true blessing in Zayn’s eyes. His work came easier to him, he slept better, hell, he even went on a run Tuesday morning after dropping Amir off at school knowing that he’d be able to see Liam again sometime soon. 

As soon as the builder packed up all his left over materials into his truck with his tools on Sunday, Zayn and his little one got straight to work thinking up ideas on what mural to decorate the interior walls of the treehouse with. Not even Amir was fazed by Liam completing his five week project, only giving him a hug and supplying him with a promise that he’ll see him soon. 

Soon winds up being Thursday. It’s the first day of the week where Zayn doesn’t feel the need to rush home after picking up Amir in order to avoid losing his streak of creative inspiration. That’s not to say that he always found it difficult to sit down and work, it’s just that the past few days in particular have been remarkably easier than normal and whether he’s working on commissioned pieces or his own side pictures, Zayn’s not letting that spark die if he can help it. 

Walking through the sliding front doors of B&Q has the artist dizzy. He’s been inside the home improvement store in the past for the occasional super glue or duct tape, but never anything seriously related to do-it-yourself activities. Even when he had painted Amir’s bedroom, he bought the colours on the store’s website so they could be ready for him to pick up at the front desk. Having to actually navigate the place wasn’t something Zayn was looking forward to. 

“You look lost.” 

The moment Liam comes into his vision, Zayn’s breathing a sigh of relief. 

“Liam!” Amir breaks off from holding his Dad’s hand to give the man a tight hug. 

“Hey there prince king, how’s it going?” Rather than let the five year old hug him around his hip like usual, Liam gets down on his knees so they can both give each other proper hugs. “Just get out of school?” 

“Yeah,” Amir responds with his chin hooked over the adult’s shoulder. “We’ve come to get paint for the inside of the treehouse.” 

When the younger male pulls away, Liam takes that as his cue to do so as well. “I know, your Baba told me.” 

“He didn’t tell you what it was though, right?” 

Zayn zips his lips closed with the fingers of his right hand when the boy turns to look at his Father for reassurance that the concept was still top secret. “I didn’t say a word,” he affirms, watching as Liam pulls himself up off the ground and wipes clean his orange smock that was part of the B&Q uniform, which also included his black polo and bottoms. 

“I’ve got a list of the colours we need,” Amir states while pulling out a folded up piece of paper from his front trouser pocket. Once he opens the sheet, he hands it over for Liam to inspect. 

**Treehouse Mural Paint Colours We Need**

The worker grins to himself at the try-hard lettering that was obviously done by Amir. 

**LOTS:**

**Brown**

**Black**

**Silver**

**Gold**

**White**

**NORMAL:**

**Yellow**

**Blue**

**Red**

**A LITTLE:**

**Green**

**Purple**

**Orange**

“Thanks for organizing it like this,” Liam tries to say with a serious tone, though he can’t help but glance over at Zayn with a look of amusement. “I’m going to need a little clarification of how many cans equal ‘a little’, but this is a good start.” 

“You’re welcome.” Amir automatically gravitates towards where the trolley’s are stored, hopping on the front of one that’s already been pulled out from the stack and waiting for his Dad to push him around. 

“I’ll give you the official tally,” Zayn pledges as he walks over to grab hold of the basket Amir’s chosen. 

With it being the middle of the afternoon on a weekday, the store’s relatively empty, for which Zayn’s grateful. He was technically a customer himself, but he wouldn’t be too happy if someone else tried to steal Liam away for advice on rakes. 

The second the three males round the corner of the paint aisle, Amir jumps off the trolley and zips over to the section with wallpaper samples. Because there’s no one else in the vicinity, Zayn doesn’t rush to join his son. Instead, he uses the distance created between them to his advantage. 

“So,” he turns his head to the right where Liam’s stopped next to the trolley. “Busy day?” 

The store employee shakes his head, “week days aren’t too bad. I’ve worked my way up so I don’t have to come in on the weekends. Those are the worst by far.” He takes out his phone from the front pocket of his apron, unlocking it quickly to check the screen before putting it back. “What about you? Get any new pictures finished?” 

“A couple, yeah,” Zayn answers, trusting Amir enough to keep his eyes on Liam instead of checking on him. “I ordered a few furniture pieces the other day. Think you could come by Saturday to put ‘em together?” 

A small beeping comes from the radio attached to Liam’s trousers, but he ignores it. “I’ve got a job in the morning, but I can come by afterwards. When I leave from there I’ll text you.” 

“Alright.” Zayn can tell that the longer he puts off getting to the point, the greater the chances either Amir would come back to interrupt them or Liam would make the first move to help with the paint. “Any plans for that evening?” 

A slow smile forms on Liam’s lips, his eyes still focused on the boy who’s started to amass a rather large collection of wallpaper sample cards. It’s the kind of expression that has Zayn wondering if Liam was merely _waiting_ for him to try his luck again. 

“I have a feeling I will, depending on how you follow that up,” Liam speculates, pulling his bottom lip in with his teeth afterwards. 

The visual is what finally forces Zayn to look away. “I was just thinking that since the treehouse is finally done-” 

“It’s not,” Liam interjects pointedly. “You still have to paint it.” 

Zayn practically rolls his eyes at the other using Amir’s words against him. “‘S why we’re here, isn't it?” Liam goes back to biting his bottom lip to keep himself quiet until he’s allowed to speak again. “I plan on it being the only thing I work on for the next couple days. Wood like that absorbs really easy so it shouldn’t take long if I have to do layers.” Hearing himself get sidetracked, Zayn focuses on the job at hand. “Anyway, you told me that you’d let me take you out eventually. Now that the treehouse isn’t your first priority, I think it’s my turn.” 

The squeaky wheel seems to have finally gotten the grease. 

“You _were_ patient,” Liam says in amusement, to which the sarcastic side of Zayn wants to reply ‘I told you I could be’, but he holds off to avoid ruining where Liam’s going with this. “Niall’s got another show Saturday night that’s past bedtime.” 

“Don’t go letting Amir hear you,” Zayn warns with a smirk. 

One mention of the Irishman’s name and Amir would be inviting himself along. Whatever it took to be able to imitate the man’s accent in front of him for immediate feedback - either of annoyance or pride for being worthy of Amir’s interest, it wouldn’t matter. 

“I think he’s good.” 

Liam’s right, with as many wallpaper patterns and character options as the store has, there’s enough material to keep the little boy occupied for much longer than Zayn intended this conversation to go for. 

“Are you going to be taking the stage this time?” He checks, even though the answer’s irrelevant; Zayn would welcome the show just as much as he would look forward to keeping Liam by his side in the audience now that they had established the get together would be classified as a date. 

“No, this is a proper gig,” the worker discloses casually. “If I go up, it’s only during the open mics.” 

Zayn’s initial reaction is to ask what the difference will be now that this is a ‘proper gig’, but he figures he’ll leave it a surprise. “So far this is sounding a lot like _you_ taking _me_ out.” 

“Did you already have a plan?” 

He didn’t, and gratefully so, because Liam’s overly entertained expression at the possibility he did was enough to make Zayn want to slap the smile off the man’s face. “No, but going out _was_ my idea,” he insists. 

“Was it?” 

The slight elevation of Liam’s eyebrows tell Zayn all he needs to know about how smug the man feels about his placement in the conversation. 

Even though Zayn’s grown into himself the older he’s gotten, he wonders if he hadn’t come on to Liam as strongly as he had in the beginning, would they have eventually found themselves in this position on the contractor’s accord? 

“Live music sounds good,” Zayn reluctantly agrees, not being able to deny liking the idea, but secretly wishing that _he_ had been the one to come up with it. “I’m in charge of the before though, ok?” 

“And what about the after?” 

“Alright Amir, you’ve got enough.” 

The little boy’s head shoots up when he hears his Dad call him by his full name, signaling that he means business. Truth be told, Zayn didn’t mean to sound as firm as he did, he was just so frustrated by Liam’s insinuation filled answer, that the only way to wrap things up before they went further than he could handle in the B&Q paint aisle was to bring Amir into the equation. 

“I told you I was patient,” Zayn reinforces to Liam while Amir shoves the small sample cards into his pocket and starts to walk back to the two adults. “Are you?” 

“Did you see we have Disney ‘Mir?” 

Zayn glares at the back of Liam’s head. 

“Yeah!” The five year old goes to take out his collection in order to show Liam the ones he picked out. “I got a few!” 

Left alone with the trolley and no answer to his question, Zayn tries to decide if Liam’s games are finally growing on him now that he’s allowed to take part in them, or if the man in orange is only letting him think he is. 

⚒⚒⚒⚒⚒ 

Making coffee for one on a Saturday morning felt way too lonely for Zayn’s liking. He’d been doing it for nearly six years without a second thought, that it’s taken him by surprise how someone who was hired to build his son a treehouse could manage to make him so uneasy about a mundane part of his daily routine. 

The feeling sticks with him until he’s receiving Liam’s text that he’s on his way at around two o’clock. It’s later than their usually scheduled morning brew, but Zayn starts up the coffee machine anyway. Between his biological clock waking him up at seven and knowing Amir won’t be the only one he spends his evening with, caffeine could only _help_ Zayn get through the day. Hopefully Liam feels the same. 

“Baba, can we blindfold him?” 

The man chuckles as he pours himself a cup of fresh coffee, “who? Liam?” 

“Yeah,” Amir confirms, climbing up onto one of the breakfast bar stools so he can speak to his Baba on a more reasonable level. “So he can be surprised when we show him the walls.” 

Doing the math from when he and the boy had finished the mural before lunch to now, Zayn prays that the fresh coat of paint has dried by the time Liam arrives. He had done practically all the detail work while the boy was at school the day before since it was a relatively simple outlay, nothing like the Disney themed bedroom that had taken Zayn a painstaking amount of hours just doing the research for it all, forget completing the thing, but it wasn’t until that morning that the finishing touches were added. 

“You’re not blindfolding anyone,” Zayn denies before taking a cautious drink of his coffee. “He hasn’t seen a thing - the design, the finished product, none of it. Trust me, he’ll be surprised without his eyes being covered.” Amir rests his head on his arms that are crossed on the countertop. “Plus, how’s he going to climb up the ladder if he’s blindfolded? You don’t want him getting hurt, do you?” 

“He can put it on when we get to the top,” the five year old bargains softly. 

Another small laugh comes from Zayn at how badly his son wants to go the extra mile for this reveal. “Beta, you saw his face when he walked into your room, yeah? He’s gonna be equally as shocked that you and I painted a mural just as cool as yours in something _he_ made.” 

It was obvious that the boy wanted a positive reaction to the scenery he helped come up with, that much was clear through the several ‘are you sure he’ll like it?’s’ Amir asked of his Dad once they finalized the concept sketch on paper, but what Zayn put together as the most important thing to the boy was that they did Liam right by the mural; it was Amir’s treehouse by claim, but it was Liam’s by hand, and therefore whatever they put on the walls needed to live up to its creator’s standards. 

Zayn wasn’t sure how he’d ended up with a soul like that to call his own. He could take a guess, but the woman hadn’t been there to raise him like Zayn had, wasn’t there to help pull out her characteristics by virtue of leading by example. When it clicked in Zayn that Amir was concerned with how Liam would take to his contribution to the treehouse, the artist couldn’t have been more thankful that his wife’s memory would always stay with him. 

The reminder lifts his head up the second the doorbell rings, jumping off his seat and fast walking to the entrance way. 

Using that as his cue, Zayn pulls down a mug from the cupboard and gets to work on his latte art for the day. 

“Hey,” Liam greets as he makes his way into the eating area. “Ooo, is that for me?” He asks when he sees Zayn carefully pouring milk into an angled mug. “I could use a cup.” 

Thanking his instincts for being correct at making the pot, Zayn hands over his creation. “I can’t finish the whole thing on my own. Have as much as you want.” 

Liam stares at the light brown spiral art that’s covering the top of his drink, “you didn’t mention this one last time.” 

“Forgot about it,” Zayn lies when he sees what Liam’s referring to. They may have plans to go out that night, but Zayn wasn’t about to jump the gun by creating the heart for the man on his second picture, so he had to do a little research on new images. At the same time, much like Liam had done to him, Zayn wants to watch him work for the bear that he knew the other was aching to see. 

“Come on, I want to show you the painting,” Amir pesters, waiting by the backdoor for the adults, as per usual. 

There’s no use in arguing with the boy, it’ll only make the insistence worse, so Zayn steps out of the kitchen quickly. “Alright, alright, let’s go.” Before Liam can ask, he lets him in on the whereabouts of his task for the day. “I already took the furniture boxes out to the trees this morning.” 

The younger male nods in understanding before he ruins the milky image and takes a drink of his coffee. 

“Are you ready?” Amir asks eagerly, almost as if _he’s_ the one being given the surprise instead of administering it when they’re all three (four if you count the meerkat that’s hanging from his owner’s left hand) standing outside the closed front door of the treehouse. 

“Do you want me to close my eyes?” 

In an instant Amir turns to his Dad with satisfaction. “Yeah, I’ll open the door and hold your hand,” the boy replies once he’s made sure Zayn feels his disapproval for being told not to do something Liam was clearly on board with. 

Doing as he says, Amir guides a tightly shut eyed Liam into the room after opening the door. “Ok, one, two, three. Open!” 

Much like what had happened when Liam first saw Amir’s bedroom, the man doesn’t know where to look first. 

Each wall depicts a different backdrop of a room that might be found inside a medieval castle. Without a window or door to take away from its rectangular shape, the far wall holds the most real estate by far, making it the perfect one to house the ‘bedroom’. A massive bed (canopy included) takes over the center of the space, with side tables and blurry portraits to the left and right of it. The ‘dining room’ was to their left. One long table spreads horizontally along the wall, decorated with a huge feast all across it and finishing off with an ornate throne at its end. Amir’s ‘office’ where he could tend to his responsibilities as king, or prince, whichever he felt was appropriate for that day, was on their right. It has a large desk filled with scrolls and the window that interrupts the picture, plays the same role in the ‘room’. In addition, there are a few stray ink bottles on the desk to go with the quills that are laid out, and several low level bookshelves behind the all important chair that’s centered with the desk. And finally, behind them was a continuation of the ‘office’ wall where the door really was the door to the ‘room’ and the wall was the same, except the only thing decorating it was one massive map of the ‘Malik Kingdom’. 

“This is…” Liam shakes his head in disbelief, “you two did this in two days?” 

“Baba did most of it while I was in class, but I helped!” 

It’s unlike the builder to not acknowledge Amir, but Zayn doesn’t necessarily blame him; the room’s a lot to take in. 

“Do you like it?” 

The boy’s follow up question is what snaps Liam out of his cloud of awe. “I think it’s amazing,” he answers honestly, looking Amir straight in the eye as he does to eliminate the weariness that’s circling inside the young boy that’s evident from his vulnerable facial expression. “The perfect place for a prince king like yourself. Show me which parts you filled in.” 

All at once, Amir’s worry is replaced with beaming pride. “I did most of the ground,” he starts, walking around the edges of the treehouse to point out the parts where he laid the foundation and his Baba went in and painted lines over it to make it look like cobblestone and not just a grey floor. 

“You’re incredible at what you do,” Liam tells Zayn when it’s just the two of them, Amir having run out of sections to brag about and retiring to the tyre swing down below. 

Running a hand through his hair, Zayn continues helping with unpacking the desk contents that they’ve brought up. “There aren’t nearly as many square meters in here than there are in his room and there weren’t that many details besides the shading.” 

“That’s not what I said.” Liam’s voice is firm enough that it gets Zayn to look at him for longer than a second. “I said you’re incredible at what you do.” 

There’s determination in the man’s eyes, Zayn can see that crystal clear. He has confidence in his work - has ever since the art teacher at the first summer course he attended told him he was a standout student - yet kneeling in front of someone who was so set on getting Zayn to believe in their words has him feeling like he’s hearing the instructor convey what he really thought of Zayn’s work all over again. Everyday people didn’t speak with such purpose. They might hand out sincere compliments, but they never cared to think of what Zayn might take from them. 

“Thank you,” the older man replies, not breaking eye contact until Liam goes back to separating the package’s screws. 

“After I finish assembling everything, I’m gonna go home and take a quick shower. Niall’s show doesn’t start until eight.” Zayn looks down at his phone to see there’s still five hours between now and then. “Does that leave you with enough time for your part of the night?” 

Liam makes it sound like he’s planned a holiday when all he’s really done is pick out a place to eat and the clothes he was going to run by Harry and Louis who were coming over to watch Amir. “That’s fine.” He does his best not to let his mind wander into the territory of Liam’s closet in an attempt to try to guess what he’ll wear. “I’ll swing by around six.” 

“I look forward to it,” Liam responds smoothly, sending Zayn a sad attempt at a wink before going back to sorting bolts. 

— 

_Well it’s not going to get much better than this._

Standing in front of his floor length mirror, Zayn’s met with an image of his figure dressed in black jeans and a bright red henley. He gives himself another onceover to check things are in place since he knows he doesn’t plan on changing the outfit; it’s the perfect date night look - no signs that he’s trying too hard, yet still giving Liam a stylish part of himself that the man hasn’t seen yet. 

It wasn’t as if he had a lot to prove, except he sort of did. Even though it had become evident from their conversation at the store Thursday that Liam had been thinking the same way he had the whole construction project, it was _Zayn_ who had come off so forward at the get go. Not being able to impress after doing that was his worst nightmare. 

Once he’s grabbed his wallet and spritzed himself with the cologne bottle that was sitting on his dresser, Zayn makes his way downstairs. 

“You look good,” Harry says from the couch as soon as Zayn’s coming into view. 

With a few minutes to spare, the man takes a seat next to his friend, thankful that Louis’ too busy outside with Amir kicking around a football to give his two cents. “Thanks. And thanks for watching ‘Mir.” 

“You hardly ever go out when he’s not in school.” Just when Zayn thought he was going to dodge a lecture. “We really don’t mind.” Harry turns his body away from the TV that was playing some cooking show to look directly at the male next to him. “Are you nervous?” 

His fidgeting with the outline of his phone in his pocket might say otherwise, but Zayn really wasn’t. “Not for the date. I’m charming, remember?” He smirks over at Harry in a way that’s only reserved for his best mate. 

The younger man raises his eyebrows quickly at the inside joke they’ve had for years that came from a night out as teens and a girl who insisted on calling Zayn everything in the book to get him to come around to her regardless of how many times he told her he was taken. “About Little Malik then?” Harry asks mindfully. 

“I’ve never not put him to bed before,” Zayn explains, extremely grateful that his friend’s in the psychology field and will know exactly how to interpret the literal meaning of his words as well as the deeper emotions behind them. “I know it’s a part of him growing up and learning that I’m my own person, but I still feel weird leaving him.” 

“Is that how you’ve felt in the past too?” 

It’s a casual question that tells Zayn: ‘Louis might be blind, but I’m not’. There’s no use in trying to deny the lunch dates that he’s managed the past few years, Harry’s sharp perceptive skills clearly figured him out ages ago. 

“He’s always been at school in the past, so no.” Zayn glances over at the backdoor to watch Amir. “I love you and Louis, maybe one of you more than the other,” he teases gently, letting Harry make the right assumption that it’s him and not his menace of a husband. “But I hate that he won’t have that consistency of me reading him to sleep.” 

“It’s like you said, he’s going to have to realize you won’t always physically be there eventually. There’s not really one right way to do it,” Harry lets him know wisely. “You’ve done a great job instilling in him how much you love him. You’ll be fine. The kid barely shed a tear when you dropped him off at the first day of school.” 

Zayn turns back to look at his friend with a pointed glare to warn him not to start mocking the worry he built up thinking that Amir would throw a tantrum the first day of Reception because he’d be away from his Dad for the longest amount of time in his life. Louis refuses to let him live down the short wave Amir sent Zayn from the inside of the classroom when he told him he was leaving, he didn’t need Harry doing his husband’s job for him and bringing it up at a time like this. 

“My point is,” the man continues, “he’s clearly ok with healthy degrees of separation. Which I think you already know, you’re just worrying yourself because you’re a parent and that’s what they do.” Harry was right, Zayn _did_ know that. Maybe he can stay in his good graces. “Add on the fact that Amir loves Liam, and I’d say this might turn out to be more of a gift for the boy more than anything else.” 

Zayn silently agrees for the second time. Who knows how much Amir will adore knowing Liam won’t be leaving their lives now that the treehouse has been completed. “Guess this is a perfect storm then, huh?” 

“Might not be wise to call it a _storm_,” Harry advises comically. “Perfect match sounds a lot less damning.” 

This was the part where Zayn needed Louis to come along and do his job balancing out his husband with more of a forgiving sense of humour. “How about we meet in the middle with perfect timing?” Hoisting himself off the couch, Zayn mentally prepares for the beginning of what he hopes to be, an entertaining night. “I’ll be back before midnight.” 

“No one gave you a curfew.” 

Zayn playfully narrows his eyes at the way Harry’s giving him his blessing to do as he pleases. “I did.” Walking over to the back door, he calls for Amir. “I’ll be home later,” he informs the boy when he runs over to give him a hug goodbye. “Be good for your Uncles and remember to follow _my_ rules, not any new ones Uncle Louis puts into place.” 

From where he’s kneeling, Zayn looks up to show Louis he’s serious. One traumatic scary film or bag of sweets before bed and the short man would feel Zayn’s wrath. 

“I love you so much,” the man says into Amir’s hair after he’s pressed a kiss there. 

Using all his might, the little boy squeezes Zayn as tight as he can. “I love you too Baba.” 

After placing one more kiss to the boy’s cheek, Zayn forces himself up to his feet. “One hair on his head...” he hisses to Louis on his way out of the house. 

“You act like I’ve never watched him before,” Zayn can hear Louis whisper under his breath as he continues down the front steps. 

The fact that he’s left Amir alone with the two men in the past and that the boy hadn’t asked when he was coming back were the only two reasons Zayn had managed to make it to the address Liam sent him. Now if only he could decide on if he should get out of the car or do the millennial thing and text Liam he’s outside. 

As he sits there, he realizes that while he may have been on dates since Ava’s passing, he hadn’t been on any that didn't start with them meeting at a restaurant or cafe first. He wasn’t even that old, yet that didn’t stop him from feeling like he had missed out on a lot of dating culture that had come with technology. 

It might go against the times, and Zayn might not know which flat was Liam’s, but he still gets out of the car and walks up to the door. Staring at the two call boxes, he crosses his fingers and presses the one for the bottom floor. 

“Yeah?” 

Oh thank god. 

“It’s me,” Zayn speaks into the box, relieved to have heard a familiar voice. 

“Ok, I’ll be right there.” 

Even as he takes a step back from the door and waits for Liam to appear, Zayn sticks by what he said to Harry - he’s not all that nervous about spending the evening with another adult on a romantic level. In fact, he was quite excited to eat with someone he wouldn’t have to read the menu to at the Italian place he picked out for them. 

Although, as Liam opens the door and checks his pockets to make sure he has what he needs, Zayn thinks that maybe he should’ve been more nervous than he was. Liam was stunning. 

“You’re punctual,” the man notes with a twinge of humour. “I like that.” 

_I like **you**_, is the immediate thing that comes to Zayn’s mind as he continues to take in Liam’s outfit. He’s got on plain trainers that are so white, Zayn wouldn’t be surprised if they were brand new; it was practically impossible to keep shoes that clean for longer than a day. His trousers are black polyester with a stretchy elastic band that Zayn’s only able to see because the green linen top he has on is tucked into it neatly. The short sleeved shirt’s got white trim on the stitching, along with the same coloured buttons that start from the birthmark on Liam’s lower neck and continue down his chest until they too disappear below the thick waistband of the stretchy trousers. Zayn’s gotta hold himself back from envisioning what else falls below the material. 

“Got everything?” He asks for good measure, leading the way back to his car when Liam nods in reply. 

“On time and a gentleman,” the contractor says impressed when Zayn holds open his door for him. 

“My parents raised me well.” In Zayn’s opinion, they did a pretty good job too. Not just his Mother either. Zayn’s Dad had done just as much reinforcing of romantic gestures and tableside manners as his Mum did. 

Back in the driver’s seat, the artist envisions where they are in the city in relation to the restaurant before he starts the car and gets on the road. “I know you like pizza, and you said you eat everything, but you’re good with Italian, right?” 

“As long as you are.” 

Slowing down for a speed bump, Zayn takes Liam’s passive answer into consideration and wonders if he’s the type of partner who would always force decision making into the annoying ‘I don’t know what I want to eat. What do you want to eat?’ Or the even worse ‘I don’t really care where we go. I’m not all that hungry’. Zayn wasn’t terribly argumentative, but that doesn’t mean that he couldn’t be if the occasion called for it. Falling into a stalemate over simple, mundane choices was one of them. 

Choosing to overlook the response for his sanity, Zayn continues on the route he’s made in his head. “I’m just gonna say this to get it out of the way.” His eyes are trained on the road, but Zayn can feel Liam’s bore into his side profile. “Have you ever dated anyone with kids?” 

“No, is it any different?” 

How is it possible for someone to be so confidently smug and yet so sincere in their naivety? 

“I mean, literally no,” Zayn starts, waiting patiently for a gap to open up at the roundabout he’s stopped in front of. “I’d still take someone out for dinner and a film, or in this case a show, if I didn’t have Amir. The dynamics in the long run though, those are definitely different.” 

“We haven’t really known each other all that long.” Liam’s voice sounds even as always, but there’s a sense of hesitancy attached to it like he’s trying to chose his words carefully. “I like you and I like Amir, a lot, but…” 

As Liam trails off, Zayn realizes how this must seem to someone their age - talking about a future relationship five minutes into the first date. “I’m not trying to scare you or say things are going to go from zero to one hundred overnight, I’m not I swear. I just want you to know what you’re getting yourself into in case things do go well.” 

The pause that Liam takes is one that Zayn interprets as a good thing, one that shows he’s fully absorbing what Zayn’s said and putting together a deserving response. “I don’t think you having a child should make me see you in any different of a light than if you didn’t. You’re still the same guy.” Liam twists his phone around in his palm. “And I don’t see Amir as a test I need to pass in order to date you either. He’s a person with his own feelings separate from yours. I _think_ he likes me, but if he doesn’t, then I would want him to because he’s him, not because I felt like I had to get him to otherwise you wouldn’t want to see me anymore.” Leaning back comfortably in his seat, Liam tilts his head against the suede to look at Zayn once more. “He’s your son and he’s a part of you. You’re two different people and one at the same time. I want to get to know you - Zayn the Father, Zayn the artist, Zayn the guy with never ending tattoos.” The smile that’s found Zayn’s lips grows at the mention of his ink. “All of them. And the same goes for Amir too. But I do want to make it clear that I don’t ever want him to think I’m going to disrespect his Mum and try and take her place. I don’t know how often you date, but I don’t want that.” 

“Can I kiss you?” 

Liam lifts his head up from the seat rest, alert eyes going from Zayn’s jaw to the street in front of them. “What? We’re at a red light.” 

“I know.” Zayn turns his head to look at the other man for a split second before making sure the signal’s still red. “I want to kiss you.” 

Sensing Liam’s movements, Zayn twists to the left just in time to meet the male’s lips. 

He didn’t do this - kissing on a first date, which meant he certainly didn’t partake in it before they even got out of the car, but Liam’s short speech was too perfect for Zayn not to. It was everything he could’ve ever asked someone to say. In fact, he wasn’t sure _he_ could’ve written a better script for Liam to read off of himself if he tried. The spontaneity of the kiss, well that just helped Zayn in the romantic department. 

When Liam pulls away in time for Zayn to see the light turn green and shift the car into gear, all the older man can think of is how wonderfully energizing this night was going to be if had a start like this. 

It all comes down to feeling free. Free to talk about Amir over a dinner of pesto pasta and stories revolved around raising him alone. Like how he cried for days when Amir wouldn’t hold down formula after Ava passed, which had led to his lactose intolerant diagnosis. The doctor’s had given him a sympathetic look at the time, but Zayn was just overjoyed at the fact that it was biological, that it wasn’t something that had come from a three month old being permanently separated by his breastfeeding Mother. 

He feels free to let himself laugh uncontrollably when Liam’s telling his own stories of all the weird things customers ask him for at the hardware store. 

He even feels free to let his fingers ghost against Liam’s back when he follows him through the crowd and towards the backstage area of the small theatre that’s jam packed with an audience of hundreds. 

Zayn’s never been backstage to a concert before, but he’s heard all about how Liam’s practically lived in them since becoming best friends with Niall and finding out he loved to sing. It’s a whole new world for Zayn, much like Liam’s construction one is, and it isn’t until he’s tightening his hand around Liam’s waist in an effort not to lose him through the hustle and bustle of the crew that he realizes he hasn’t been out of his art bubble all his life. 

He could argue that the time spent working behind a counter as a barista could be considered time spent with others who had a passion outside of art, but the cafe in Bradford and the one in Sheffield that’s closed down since he worked there, were boxes in themselves. No workers really hung out with each other outside of the shops, and it was even more rare for any of them to have a love for coffee that branched out further than just an aspect of a job that paid the bills. Sure, Zayn had always been social in whatever art crowd was in the area that he lived in at the time, and he did love to read, so he was _knowledgeable_ about the rest of the world, but in the twenty six years he had been walking around, he hadn’t really experienced all that much of it. Even when Ava was alive, they always involved themselves in some sort of creative groups and when it came to Harry and Louis, Zayn wouldn’t dare step foot anywhere near a pub because of what made him a widower in the first place, so their unpredictable nights partaking in pub quizzes weren’t even memories Zayn had. 

He didn’t feel sorry for himself about it all, although maybe he would’ve if he had come to the realization sooner. No, instead he felt even _more_ grateful for Liam to have come into his life. If not to give his son a life long gift and himself an enjoyable conversation, but to inadvertently open his eyes to worlds that he never would have thought to touch, much less experience first hand. 

“Hey, long time no see,” Niall says as he stands at the sight of Liam and Zayn approaching his designated set-up area for the night. 

Once he’s close enough, Zayn leans forward to give the man a hug. “Hope it’s alright I didn’t bring your number one fan.” 

“I don’t know, it’s been a bit lonely not having someone to remind me of my accent.” The musician moves on to switch embraces with his best friend. “Haven’t had anyone point it out as much as the little guy since I moved to this country for uni.” 

Zayn only feels mild embarrassment at his son’s actions, the comfort that Liam’s passing on to him reigns supreme, even in an environment that’s completely new to him. “If you miss it that much, he’s only a call away.” Staring at the huge mirror behind Niall, his guitar case standing up against it, Zayn starts to wonder just how much of a hobby music really was. By the looks of things, Niall doesn’t appear too far off from a proper headliner. “Not exactly the cafe in downtown,” Zayn adds, leaning his body ever so slightly into Liam’s side. 

“It’s a showcase with a bunch of different performers, that’s why.” The Irishman cracks his knuckles mindlessly. “There’s no way all those people would come just to see me.” 

“You’re good,” Zayn argues with as much conviction as he can muster up. “One day they might.” 

A small nudge from Liam’s elbow hits Zayn’s upper arm. “Don’t tempt him. If he becomes all rich and famous, who’s going to be the one to balance my books?” 

While Niall shakes his head at his friend’s dramatics, Zayn takes the opportunity to piggyback on the banter in his own way. “I heard there are a lot of classified websites where you can find workers.” Liam listens on in intrigue. “Gotta be careful though, you can come across a lot of tricksters on there.” 

“You don’t say…” The man says with a humoured tone and matching facial features. 

At this point, Zayn’s lost all care for the other adult in his and Liam’s presence. “They’re not all bad though. A couple diamonds in the rough exist, so I’ve heard.” 

“Only a couple?” Liam shifts his weight onto his right leg. “My odds aren’t great then.” 

“No, but if you do find one, they’re unbelievable.” 

“Can you two go flirt somewhere else?” Niall cuts in after Zayn’s last comment, clearly wanting out of the two way conversation he’s been subjected to. “I’d like to tune this before going on and your not so discreet metaphor is getting in the way of that.” 

Breaking his gaze with Liam, Zayn notices the guitar Niall’s gesturing to. He would apologize, wish the man good luck and tell him they’d be front and center to make up for the back and forth, except he’s not sorry. It’s been a long time coming - this discourse with Liam. Zayn’s not going to regret his words, even if he should have waited until they were out of the musician’s vicinity before letting his thoughts known. 

Luckily Liam gives Niall well wishes for the both of them before tugging Zayn by the forearm through the throngs of people backstage and towards the concessions area. 

They both come out with sodas, even though the artist wishes it was tea given the hour and his fondness towards the comfort of warmth late at night. Now that he and Liam are standing in general admission, it was probably for the best that the drink wasn’t on the menu, it’d force Zayn into a dad stereotype that he wasn’t quite ready for. 

“You look great by the way,” he offers after taking a drink from his bottle. “I’m not sure if I’ve told you already.” 

Staring down at his outfit, Liam smiles at the compliment. “You still like it even though it’s a softer colour scheme?” 

“I like working with bright shades, but that doesn’t mean I hate everything else.” For the sake of not wanting to come off too eager, Zayn leaves out the part about how he loves the softness of the material and how it emotionally carries over to Liam’s aura, enhancing the already there gentle nature that the man always exhibits. “Plus it’s nice to see you in something other than a t-shirt and blue jeans.” _So much for staying charming._ “Even though those are nice,” Zayn reassures the other. “I’d still be happy if you wore that.” 

The clarification doesn’t seem to influence what Liam had already planned on responding with. “It’s not easy going up against someone who dresses like you.” Immediately Zayn looks down at _his_ choice of clothing, unsure if Liam’s referring to what he wore during the build or just that night. “Even Amir’s got his own sense of style,” the man adds with an earnest tone that doesn’t make the small comment come off as any sort of afterthought, but a real opinion. 

It’s not the first time Liam’s brought up the little boy in the few hours they’ve been out either. Because Zayn’s a proud parent, he would’ve brought out his phone every thirty minutes to show him pictures of his son if Liam didn’t know him anyway, so not only was Liam doing himself a favour, but his actions were proving Zayn’s instincts correct that he was worth the five week chase. 

“He’s learning from the best,” the older man replies arrogantly. 

Pointing his bottle at Zayn, Liam cocks his right eyebrow, “You’ll have your hands full when he’s a teenager if he learns your smooth talking.” 

“If he pays attention, I won’t have anything to be worried about.” A slow smile spreads over the male’s face. “I don’t sweet talk _every_ person in a room, only the ones who stand out.” Zayn’s eyes move away from Liam’s to illustrate his point. 

The performance hall has now filled up with people of all types thanks to the eclectic group of musicians on the bill. There’s no doubt in Zayn’s mind that by playing the numbers game, there was probably at least one other person in the room that he’d find attractive. Yet the man’s line of sight comes back to Liam, more than confident that without needing to look at the rest, Zayn knows he’s the best out of them all. 

Not having to abide by normal traditions with Zayn’s red light kiss paving the way for the night, Liam leans in right as the lights dim for the first act. 

The painter uses the crowd’s commotion and excited energy throughout the night as a soundtrack to how he’s feeling at that moment. It’s cheesy, and something he’d never admit out loud, but he loves it. 

Loves how every once and a while the back of Liam’s hand brushes against his own - a small reminder of their close proximity and representation of the other’s identity, the calloused undersides a personification of his capability to play hard to get. 

What Zayn falls in love with the most, is the feeling he gets when he’s laying in bed later that night, having already checked on a sleeping Amir and thanked his friends for their job babysitting. It’s a mixture of bliss and a spirit that originated from feeling fulfilled by something other than art. There’s only one other person who’s been able to make him feel that way, and if he didn’t already know he was over Ava by recognizing that the pain that came with her death would always be there, he just wasn’t overly consumed by it any longer, Zayn would’ve had a really difficult time accepting the emotion. 

He turns to his lay on his side, running over the night in his head, especially the look Liam had given him when Zayn insisted on walking him to his door instead of simply dropping him off after the concert. Without knowing for sure if it was the chivalrous gesture or if Liam would’ve accepted the last few kisses Zayn offered in the front seat of his car, the painter realized that either way, the physical things weren’t the only ones he thought of anymore when he looked at the contractor. 

Getting him in bed to see what lay underneath his colourful t-shirts or how his rough hands felt against his ribs weren’t Zayn’s primary concern anymore; he wants to tear Liam apart in other ways - learn what he can about the man’s playful side or how he got so good with kids. Is it just something he was born with or was he around them more often than Zayn knew? He was an enigma that a sleepy Zayn wanted nothing more than to figure out. 

Thanks to Liam surrendering in his game for one, he was now able to let his mind run wild with ideas. Starting tomorrow. He needed to take advantage of his relaxed composure while he could before it was back to keeping up with a rambunctious five year old. 

🌳🌳🌳🌳🌳 

“Where’s Liam?” 

Zayn’s head peeks up from the grocery list that he’s making for their weekly shop, only to see Amir staring back at him expectantly from across the dining room table. “What do you mean?” 

“It’s Sunday,” the boy says as if that should be enough of an explanation to justify his bewilderment. “I waited until the afternoon to see if he’d show up late like yesterday, but he’s still not here.” 

A small breath of relief comes from Zayn when Amir’s admitting his confusion on the builder’s schedule rather than figuring out that his Dad had skirted the truth the night before by only telling him that he was going out to hang with friends. Amir would learn the details as soon as Zayn deemed it necessary. 

“The treehouse is done beta. He doesn’t need to come over anymore.” It wasn’t a secret that the five year old idolized Liam, but seeing his face drop at the reality that the routine that had been built between all three of them was over made Zayn feel more gutted than he expected. “If we need help building something else we can call him.” 

“Does that mean no more Deliveroo on the weekends either?” 

If Amir being let down that his new favourite person wasn’t going to be visiting the house anymore wasn’t bad enough, his disappointment at the meals that were usually reserved as a luxury made Zayn’s guilt skyrocket. “I thought you liked my cooking?” 

Sheepish at being put on the spot, Amir shrugs, “I do, but…” 

“You like junk food more,” Zayn finishes for him knowingly. “Well I’m sorry to say that train ride has come to an end. Back to my boring, healthy menu.” The little boy’s pout hits an all time low. “Which I’ve got to restock, so why don’t you go get your shoes on and we’ll head to Tesco’s. Maybe we’ll get one last take away on the way home if you’re good.” In a flash, Amir’s taking off for the shoe rack at the front door. “That goes for meerkat too. If he comes, I don’t want to see him burrowing in the apple pile.” 

Folding up his list, Zayn hears Amir laugh to himself. “He hated the bath you gave him after that one time, so I don’t think he’ll do it again.” 

“I hope not,” the man cautions, taking out his phone and opening the very limited text thread he’s got with Liam while the boy scrambles upstairs to get his stuffed animal. 

Since waking up that morning the thought to text the male had crossed Zayn’s mind several times. He never got any farther than beating himself up for the stupid ideas that came to mind like ‘had a good time last night, can’t wait to see you again’ or the more direct ‘wish you were here’ text. The numbers at the top of the mobile tell Zayn that it’s far enough into the day that he’d past the _too_ eager zone. 

**Any chance you’re free sometime this week? We’ve got a leaky faucet that needs fixing**

Leaving his phone on the table, Zayn goes into the pantry to pull out several reusable canvas bags, pleased that when he returns he’s got a response. 

**Is this code?**

The male nearly snorts at the clarification Liam’s looking for. 

**No, the sink upstairs has always been fidgety. Now that I know a proper handyman, it’s time it got repaired**

**Tuesday @ 6 sound ok?**

Before he types back, Zayn quickly makes sure there isn’t anything he’s forgotten about going on that day. 

**Yeah, all good**

**See you then. Send me a pic of the sink too so I know the brand**

“Ok, we’re ready!” Amir calls from the front door. 

“Will you do me a favour?” Zayn pockets his phone and grabs the bags on the counter. “Will you try and remind me to take a picture of the sink when we get back?” 

Watching his Dad slip on his shoes, Amir lets his curiosity get the best of him. “How come?” 

“Liam’s gonna come over and fix the one that drips when you don’t turn it to the left all the way,” the man divulges, snagging his keys from their place hanging on the wall. 

“Today?” 

Sadly, Zayn dampens Amir’s enthusiasm once more. “No, Tuesday, but he asked for a picture of it and I’m afraid I’ll forget, so you’ve gotta remind me.” 

“Ok,” the younger Malik affirms once he’s jumped off the front step. “I’ll do my best.” 

“That’s all I ever ask for,” Zayn says affectionately, placing a kiss on the boy’s head before he races to the back seat of the car. 

🎨🎨🎨🎨🎨 

Plumbing’s never looked so good. 

What had originally meant to be the fixing of a leaky faucet had turned into the replacement of the main valve under the sink. Zayn had no idea what sort of pictures Liam had needed, so he sent him one of the handles themselves and then the underside piping just in case. Apparently the former was what the worker was referring to when he asked for a photo, but as soon as he saw the piping, he told Zayn that he’d bring some PVC with him to replace the dated plastic that was currently there. How he could tell that the homeowner had opted out of changing the piping when he redid the room the year before from one poorly lit picture, Zayn had no idea, but he didn’t really care with the view it’s now afforded him. 

He should probably say something to let Liam know that he’s standing in the hall right outside the open doorway. Keyword: probably. Instead, he stays where he is for a few moments longer to appreciate the muscular set of abs that are on display thanks to Liam’s shirt bunching up, most likely from when he shimmied under the sink to lay down in the first place. 

“Can I help you?” 

Zayn nearly jumps out of his skin when he hears the man’s voice come from inside the cabinet. “No, I was just…” His brow creases in curiosity, “Is that how you talk to Amir?” 

They both knew the answer to that, an accurate response wasn’t needed, yet Zayn was interested to hear how Liam had known it was him and not his son who was creeping on him. 

“Amir would’ve asked his question already,” the male says as he pulls himself out of the space and sits up, his shirt falling back down in the process. “And you’re light, but the stairs don’t take that into consideration.” Liam smirks at having won the battle that was clearly his to take. “Should work on your tiptoeing.” 

Subconsciously, Zayn crosses his arms in defense. “I was coming to see how long you were going to be. Dinner’s just about ready. You’re welcome to join.” 

The younger man glances at his work, mulling over his answer. “I just have to tighten the gasket. Shouldn’t take me more than a few seconds.” He wipes his hands off on one of the old towels that he’s brought. “Smells like Indian.” 

“That’s because it is,” Zayn confirms. “I make a pretty famous dairy-free butter chicken.” 

“With basmati rice?” 

The artist looks at Liam like he’s crazy for ever asking such a question. “I’m Pakistani. If I cooked it with anything else I’d never be welcomed back to Bradford.” 

As extreme of a repercussion as Zayn has come up with, Liam seems to have enjoyed it. “I’ll stay,” he replies with a thin lipped smile. “Just give me a couple minutes to clean up.” When Zayn doesn’t make any moves to leave, he whips the towel in the man’s direction. 

“Alright, I’m going,” Zayn chuckles, reluctantly making his way back down the stairs to where his food was waiting. 

— 

Sitting across from Liam at the table, listening to him laugh and watching his eyes bunch up as he does so, makes Zayn happier than he felt when he was selfishly admiring the man just before the meal started. It surprises him at just how much he could appreciate Liam’s presence, even though they had only seen each other three days prior. He can say the same for Amir, seeing as though the boy practically ignored his Dad the whole dinner now that he had his new friend to talk to while he ate. Funny how Zayn becomes relevant again when Amir wants to know if they’re following their usual tradition of enjoying something sweet after their meal if company was over. Although as soon as he says no and Liam’s asking for a plate of seconds, he goes right back to being invisible. 

“Do you like board games?” The five year old asks Liam once he finally finishes with his food, tone just as full of desire as it usually is when he speaks to the adult, but without the typical pep that went along with it. 

“Sure,” Liam nods after wiping his mouth. “What do you have? 

Handing his plate to his Father, Amir voices his favourite of the bunch. “Hedbanz.” 

“You’re gonna have to teach me how to play.” The younger man passes his plate to the older who’s gesturing for him to hand it over. “I’ve never heard of it before.” 

Amir slips off the bench, walking over to the living area. “You put a card on your head and then ask me questions to try and guess what animal’s on the card.” 

When Zayn’s back from putting the dishes in the dishwasher, Liam’s meeting him halfway to the sofa. “Are you gonna play with us?” 

“Of course,” Zayn replies with a smug smile. “I’m the reigning champion.” 

For a second it looks like Liam’s about to tell him something along the lines of ‘aren’t you supposed to let your kid be the one who wins?’, but Amir’s already got the game out from the cupboard in the corner of the living area, so the man keeps his mouth shut to avoid tainting the good guy image that Amir’s given him. 

“I’m not going to go easy on you then,” Liam protests at a volume only Zayn can hear, taking a seat on the couch. 

The artist follows suit and gets comfortable. “Play as you like,” he taunts sweetly. 

And maybe it’s the way he spoke that has Liam doing exactly as he said, but there’s no use, Zayn’s very obviously memorized the different types of animals in the game, which isn’t all that many given it’s for five and up. Regardless, Zayn enjoys discovering this new competitive side to Liam that’s coming out thanks to the game. The settings that the man has been in with Zayn have really only allowed for him to show off his patience, so this is quite amusing for the painter to witness, especially considering they’re playing a board game with the word ‘junior’ in the title. 

“Looks like there’s a new champion,” Liam mocks as soon as Amir comes out victorious for their latest round. 

In order to play along, Zayn squints back at him in contest. “I’ll win back my spot next time.” 

“We can play again,” Amir reasons calmly, stopping himself from putting away the game in case his Dad goes along with his request. 

“We’ve already played two times.” Steadily, Zayn helps stack the pieces in their box. “It’s time for bed.” 

Despite the cleaning up that’s going on and Liam checking his watch when he hears the declaration, Amir still gives it another shot. “It’s still early,” he responds softly. 

“Nice try,” Zayn smiles as he puts the lid on the game. “Go on up, I’ll be there to read to you in a second.” Leaning over into Liam’s space, he whispers, “You can stay for a drink, it won’t be long.” 

“Have you ever read Harry Potter?” 

Realizing that Amir’s talking to him, Liam pulls away from the bubble that Zayn’s made for them. “Uh, no. I’ve only seen the films.” 

“Do you want to?” The little boy waits patiently for an answer as he stands in front of the coffee table. “Baba’s reading me the first book.” 

Zayn’s first instinct is to tell Amir no, though he hasn’t got a real justification as to why, it just seems like what he’s supposed to say. Liam joining in on a bedtime story was something most parents would deem as a little too close to home, right? At least this early on in whatever it was they were doing. 

Amir clearly adored Liam, and Zayn wasn’t all that far behind. He trusted the man greatly, yet there was something holding him back from approving the action outrightly. So as he buys himself time to think up a proper response, he looks to the man at his side to see what his reaction was to the proposal. 

What Zayn’s met with isn't anything out of the ordinary - Liam seems just as hesitant to speak as Zayn is. Frankly, he wouldn’t blame the male for bailing. Even if he does get along with Amir splendidly, most would consider it a big ask. It would definitely separate him from his ‘treehouse guy’ label, that’s for sure. 

“If you want me to join, then it’s up to your Baba.” The carpenter in red shrugs, “I don’t mind. I heard the books were better than the films anyway.” 

Instead of focusing on Liam’s diplomatic answer, Zayn wonders what it is about the man that has Amir wanting to include him in so many things. Obviously Liam stood out to Zayn based on his personality, and as he learned from numerous parenting books over the years, kids picked up on everything, but was Liam’s aura really _that_ uniquely comforting for Amir to treat him like he did Harry or Louis? Two people he had known since birth? Coming into Amir’s life with just as much enthusiasm to learn about him as the boy had for wanting to discover Liam could be blamed too, but Zayn didn’t have much time to dwell on it with Amir sulking back at him. 

At the end of the day, he was probably overthinking things as usual. Amir was most likely just trying to prolong bedtime for as long as he could swindle it. 

“He can listen down here,” the artist instructs, “not in your room.” Hesitancy still swirls within Zayn at allowing Liam into a routine as intimate as a bedtime story, yet he sticks by his neutral compromise, watching Amir turn and climb the stairs evenly to go retrieve the book. 

“You’re right,” Liam throws his arm over the top of the couch, “he really does slow down a lot in the evenings.” 

“I told you.” As he stands up to store the game back in its rightful spot, Zayn’s knees crack, causing him to wince. “Still willing to include newcomers in whatever, just at a much lazier speed. He’ll be clinging to me the whole time, watch.” 

“Does he usually invite people to listen to his bedtime story?” 

Zayn shuts the small cabinet, “No one’s ever typically here, so I think that’s why you got the formal invitation.” Instead of sitting back down, he walks over to the kitchen. “Decaf or regular?” 

“Decaf,” Liam answers quickly. “Don’t really want to be up all night.” While Zayn prepares the coffee, the brunette pulls out his phone to play with carelessly. He’s about to check if rain was in the forecast for the next day when Amir reappears with the book and an unfamiliar stuffed animal. “Are you going to introduce me?” 

The boy slumps down onto the couch, watching as Liam puts away his mobile and turns his body so he can give Amir all his attention. “This is Marowak,” he replies, trusting the other enough to let him hold the prized possession. 

“Is he a…” Liam studies the animal carefully, “character on TV?” 

Amir shakes his head, “No, he’s a Pokémon.” 

“Oh.” Passing back the plush, the man looks to Zayn’s younger carbon copy for his usual spewing of facts. “I don’t know anything about Pokémon. Is he your favourite?” 

“Sorta.” Amir’s voice wavers when he answers. “He doesn’t look the coolest, but I like his story.” 

With a wide open floor plan, Zayn can hear the conversation from where he’s pulling down two mugs. It’s clear by the way Amir doesn’t ask Liam if he wants to hear about the animal’s backstory that his son’s fallen into full introvert mode. 

Thankfully Liam’s cognizant enough to be able to coax out the right type of energy from the small boy. “Can you tell it to me?” 

Amir twists the toy so he can look it in the eyes, stoicism taking over his own. “This is his evolved form. He looks different as a baby. On his face, here,” he turns the Pokémon to face Liam, pointing to the area below each of its eyes, “there are lines from his tears when he cries at night. He doesn’t have a Mum either, but she looks like the moon, so when he sees the moon he cries because he misses her.” 

When Zayn leaves the coffee to brew and takes back his seat, Amir immediately buries himself into his Dad’s side. 

“He only evolves into Marowak when he’s not sad anymore,” the boy continues seriously. “Now he’s stronger, so he doesn’t have the lines.” 

A brief silence takes over the home as the power of the fictional character’s upbringing sinks in for them all. Unlike Amir’s meerkat, this stuffed animal’s sole purpose is to accompany the child while he sleeps, which Zayn thinks makes this one of the only times Amir’s told the story to anyone else. Outside of Zayn’s and Ava’s parents, who heard the story when Father and son visited their houses for the first overnight visit after the purchase, and Louis and Harry, who were the first to blatantly point out how Amir had chosen to purchase the evolved form rather than the first stage Pokémon, Liam was the only other soul to know of the cherished animal. 

The same man’s voice is the one who breaks the silence, “I’m glad he’s not sad anymore.” 

Amir grins at Liam’s words, but keeps his vision on the animal he’s clutching. “Me too.” 

Once Zayn’s reached for the book on the coffee table, the child burrows further into his Baba’s side, signaling the end of the conversation. 

It’s all Zayn needs to know that it was ok to start reading, so he does. 

While the book’s meant to help ease down Amir for the day, it never seems to do its job in the beginning. He’s not able to keep up with how fast Zayn reads the words, but he still stares at the pages in awe at what’s jumping out from them, tightening his grip around his animal whenever there’s a particularly close call that’s been avoided. 

Out of the corner of his eye Zayn can even see Liam sitting on the edge of his seat, irrespective to the man’s actual position leaning his entire weight into the couch cushions comfortably. It’s from there that he follows along, just as engulfed in the story as if he was curled into Zayn’s other side. 

They all play their roles until Zayn slides the galaxy bookmark into the paperback before he’s able to start another chapter. From the time illuminated on the DVD player underneath the TV, he can see that it’s been a solid twenty minutes of getting lost in another world - just enough to lull Amir’s eyes closed. 

“I’m just gonna carry him up,” Zayn whispers to Liam, who’s taking the book from him to make it easier on Zayn to pick up the boy who’s nearly falling into his lap. “I’ll be right back.” 

The man nods, his right hand hovering underneath the stuffed animal in Amir’s arm in case it drops when the boy’s Father picked him up, but it’s not needed, the Pokémon’s stuck in a choke hold. 

Adjusting his grip, Zayn carries the light as a feather five year old up the stairs and to his room. Amir barely stirs when he’s tucked in, falling back into his deep slumber soon after Zayn places a kiss on his forehead. He stares down at his son and the brown character that’s peaking out from under the covers alongside him. 

Every once and a while Amir has a bad day, usually from something someone’s said at school, but Zayn’s really lucky that his son’s growing up with tough skin when it comes to not ever truly knowing his Mother. In a weird way he’s glad Amir doesn’t remember her; it’d be a lot harder, like it was on Zayn, to let go of her soothing presence. It hasn’t been until recently that he’s managed to find one that’s come even remotely close to hers. 

“One decaf cup coming right up,” he tells that person from the bottom of the stairs. 

Liam had been caught off guard by the voice, preoccupied with flipping through the novel that was put on pause for the night. “I’m going to have to get a copy for myself now that I’ve heard part of this.” 

Briefly, Zayn looks up from where he’s pouring the black liquid into the previously set out mugs. “You should. I haven’t read it since I was eleven or twelve, but it’s turning out to be as great as I remember.” There’s no way Liam’s getting a plain cup, so in order to avoid having to concentrate too much (he was admittedly just as tired as Amir), Zayn swiftly pours the milk into a heart shape. 

“I was thinking,” Liam preempts, holding his hand out to take his cup from the man when he’s back in front of the couch. “I don’t remember seeing Finding Nemo on his Disney mural.” 

Sitting cross legged, facing Liam cupping his mug in his lap, Zayn shakes his head. Based on the Pokémon speech, he thinks he knows where the other’s going with this. “He hated it. Only sat through the whole thing to make sure that Nemo found his Dad, otherwise it would have hit too close to home. I don’t think he likes _seeing_ himself in any portrayals. The Pokémon thing was a fluke.” Zayn blows on his drink and tests to see if he can safely take a sip. “I found my old collection of cards when we visited my parents house one trip and he was hooked on looking up the ones I didn’t have when we got back home. Apparently they all have backstories, which I had no idea about. Instead of a bedtime story one night we just went down the list and read them all.” 

Liam glances up from staring at his fading heart, “Lion King’s ok though?” 

“Lion King bordered on disaster too,” Zayn discloses with an expression that showed how scarred he was by Amir’s first watch of the film. “He wouldn’t leave my side for a week after that. Only stomached it and fell in love because of Timon, otherwise I’m sure it’d be added to the banned list right next to Bambi, which I’m not letting him within a mile of.” 

A nod of understanding comes from Liam, who also uses the moment to drink from his mug. 

“Thanks for fixing the sink by the way,” Zayn adds, smiling when he sees the other do the same. 

“It was nothing.” The handyman tilts his smile downwards in modesty. “Thanks for dinner. By the way I had two helpings, I think you can take a guess as to what I thought of it.” 

Learning from a Mother who always cooked for an army, Zayn nearly asks if he wants to take home some of the leftovers. “I told you it was famous.” He takes in the comfortable atmosphere while trying to come up with a new topic. “So what’s your next weekend project?” 

“Actually,” Liam shifts in his seat, careful not to spill the contents of his mug, “the manager who works on the weekends is going on holiday, so I’m filling in for him. Switching Thursdays and Fridays for Saturday and Sunday this week and next.” 

“Have you ever taken a holiday?” The artist’s brow raises in amusement, “Or would that get in the way of your savings?” 

It doesn’t seem like Liam’s all that keen with the teasing, sending Zayn an extremely mild glare. “I take time off and go down to visit my family sometimes, but I haven’t been out of the country in a while if that’s what you mean.” 

Regardless of the intimidating snarl, the older male continues with his jokes. “Your muscles would thank you if you did, you know.” 

The flirting technique seems to work, as Liam’s now dropping his petulant expression and exchanging it for a cocky smirk. “Is that what they’ve been telling you each time you’ve stared at them?” 

“Among other things,” Zayn confesses, not at all letting the call out faze him. He’d done it to himself with the outdoor art set up and blatant subject studying anyway. 

“Like?” 

Liam’s staring at him expectantly, just waiting to see what’ll come out of Zayn’s mouth next. 

“That they’re interested in seeing what’s behind there,” the man nods to the closed door of his studio, flaunting his own smug smile when he’s being proven correct with Liam’s barely there blush turning away from him. Zayn had seen him eye the room on more than one occasion, most likely trying to sneak a peek for a real life look into what he’d witnessed on Instagram and the small pieces of Zayn’s work that he became privy to during the build. “You speak goat, I speak muscles.” 

Liam’s eyes stay focused on Amir’s book that’s been forgotten on the table. “And what do you have to say to their request?” 

“I’d love some custom wood frames for my pieces.” 

Talk of work has Liam meeting eyes with Zayn once more. “That can be arranged.” A look of excitement at creating something new begins to take shape. “Does Thursday morning work?” 

“Let me get home from dropping off Amir and yeah,” the creative replies with a hint of endearment at finding out the key to Liam’s happiness. “I’ll text you the dimensions tomorrow.” 

“So,” the male runs his pointer finger around the edge of his mug, “you collected Pokémon cards?” 

A short laugh comes from Zayn, “When I wasn’t watching Justice League, yeah.” 

“Who’s your favourite superhero?” 

Left eye squinting as he runs through the standout choices, Zayn does his best not to leave Liam hanging for too long. “It’s a toss up between Green Lantern and Deadpool.” 

“Is Deadpool really a super_hero_ though?” Almost as soon as the question’s out in the air, the contractor bites his lip at Zayn’s glower. 

“Did you just…” Zayn simmers down by taking a drink of his coffee, eyes still narrowed for the next ten minutes as he goes on a rant about just how wrong Liam’s elementary opinion was. 

⚒⚒⚒⚒⚒ 

Ever since he dropped Amir off at school that morning, Zayn had been hard at work in his studio. Any time he started a new piece he tended to get absorbed by the freshness of it all; the excitement at not knowing what the finished product will look like even though he was its creator. So far the rectangle canvas that was set to eventually be covered in a graffitied version of the tattoo shop’s name he frequents in town only showed the penciled outline of the letters and faint traces of the guidelines used to make sure they were spaced correctly. 

It was a nice change of pace from painting people or animals. He didn’t _dislike_ creating those, that wasn’t it at all. He simply enjoyed the freedom of being in a position where he could break up that typical routine, like he was able to do now. Zayn’s not disillusioned to believe that luck didn’t have a lot to do with that either. 

He’d come a long way from doodling in his notebooks during secondary school. And a lot of how he was able to make a healthy living - apart from the money he got from Ava’s settlement - was thanks to technology allowing for people to see his art and granting them the ability to buy whatever he creates, but not having to paint what others told him to was an artist’s dream. Even the pieces that _were_ commissioned, he could choose to reject if he so pleased. Zayn didn’t know how many individuals were in that exclusive club (while also not being forced to eat cheese and crackers for dinner), but if he had to make an educated guess, it’d have to be less than a few thousand. Receiving relatively consistent paychecks was something Zayn was even more grateful for, considering how much his style has changed over the years. 

The English notes that were overtaken by pencil drawings of whatever pattern his teacher’s top was that day had transitioned to simple still life after his first summer course and then moved on to a brief comic creation stint before it got to the present day colourful interpretations of whatever his hand felt like bringing to life. No doubt the style will continue to morph as Zayn does. He’s only twenty six after all; the process of figuring out who he was showed no signs of ending any time soon. Becoming a father and widower at twenty sped things up a bit, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t still trying to find his place in the world outside of those two labels. Certainly being a freelance artist allowed for there to be a lot more room for that discovery process than being a part of the corporate rat race would. 

There’s no way he’d be able to spend as much time with Amir as he was able to if he worked in that world either. Surely he’d have to pass him off to some after school program like Zayn’s parents had to instead of being able to wait on the sidewalk for the boy to get out at the strike of three. It was one of the many things that Zayn was glad his son didn’t know any different from. He’d grown up wanting _his_ parents to be one of the adults who stood just outside of his school’s chain linked fence to greet him. He had been desperate enough that he would’ve even taken waiting for the family car to pull up in the pick up lane over lining up with the other kids and being guided to the nearby house that doubled as a daycare. 

And if it weren’t for Zayn being his own boss, he _definitely_ wouldn’t be able to work from home. Turn what was supposed to be the front sitting room into his own personal studio and not have to worry about getting paint on the carpet because it was _his_ to do with as he wished. He even thought of the random splotches as helpful towards fostering a more creative space for him to work in. 

In the end, Zayn was eternally grateful for how his career had turned out and the flexibility that came with it. Which today, allowed for him to take a break and watch a familiar red pick up pull into the driveway. 

From the studio’s expansive front window, Zayn watches Liam emerge from his truck wearing black joggers and a white t-shirt with a brand name on the back that probably belongs to some random construction company Zayn knows nothing about. 

Coming around the back, Liam releases the truck bed’s latch so it can fall flat, leaning forward once it does to pull a saw to the edge of the car. A large canvas bag filled with thin cuts of wood gets caught on it, but Liam untangles it and slings the single strap over his shoulder as he makes his way up the front steps. 

“Morning,” the man greets with his usual morning cheerfulness. 

If he wasn’t as handsomely charismatic as he is, Zayn would scowl at the unnecessary energy this early on in the day. Instead, he offers up a matching grin and opens up the door wider for the male to step through. 

“You already got the paintings out,” Liam notes as he walks further into the house, naturally gravitating towards the large dining room table where five various size canvases were already waiting for him. 

“Yeah, I thought it’d be easier for you to work here since my desk in the studio is really only big enough for sketching, not spreading out like you need.” Stepping into the kitchen allows Zayn to keep the arrogant smile that’s surfaced from managing to prolong Liam’s studio entrance, to himself. 

“Good thinking, thanks.” 

Since his back is to Liam after pulling out the milk from the fridge, Zayn rolls his eyes at the cover up. _You’re frustrated and I know it, but nice save_, he thinks to himself as he pours the coffee he had already timed to finish with Liam’s punctual arrival. 

“Are these all for clients or yourself?” 

The artist focuses on pouring the milk with precision. “The smallest one of the butterfly is for Harry’s office. The other four are for customers.” Staring at the light brown cup that now has a bear’s face floating on the top, Zayn considers taking a picture of the final product, as it’s surpassed the quality of his past couple practice cups, but then he realizes that he left his phone in his studio, so all he can do is commit the image to memory. 

“The bear!” 

There’s no stopping the wide smile that Zayn gets from hearing Liam’s fervent reaction when he sets the mug down in front of the man who’s taken a seat at the table. 

“I can’t get over how talented you are,” Liam goes on to praise. Seeing the man snap a picture has Zayn grateful that it’s documented somewhere in history; maybe he’ll ask for the other to send it his way one of these days. “First this, and then getting to work up close and personal with your paintings. It’s my lucky day.” 

“I wouldn’t go that far.” Back behind the counter Zayn pours himself his second cup for the day; the first just enough to help pull off his early morning attentive Dad character. “I mean, thank you for thinking that, but really, they’re not Picasso’s.” 

Liam’s eyes follow the older man’s body as he walks back over to the table and stops at the edge. “I bet Picasso didn’t think what he made would ever turn out to be as popular as they are.” 

“If I would have known you working on something of mine was going to turn you into a compliment machine, I would’ve just bought the frames online like I always do,” Zayn chastises with a twinkle in his eye that’s there to tell Liam he’s trying to rile him up more than denying him access to his secret room already had. 

Sure enough, the contractor visibly shrinks back into his cat and mouse ways by ruining Zayn’s latte art and attaching his lips to the ceramic mug. 

Before, Zayn might’ve kicked himself for being the one responsible for closing the window of opportunity, but today he was too amused at getting to see Liam on the other end of the joke, that he didn’t even care how many steps back he might’ve set himself. 

“Well it looks like you’ve got everything.” Zayn’s eyes skim over the bag of wood and art set out in front of the man. “I’ll just be in my studio. Shout if you need anything else.” 

Liam must feel thwarted by his actions, since Zayn’s free to saunter back to the front room without any protests or snide commentary. 

It’s a classic ‘two can play at that game’ mixed with giving Liam a taste of his own medicine. _Beautiful_, Zayn thinks as he sets his mug down next to his easel, not in the least bit upset that he invited the male over for the day. 

“Now,” he mumbles to himself, scrutinizing the palm tree outlines that are staring back at him. “Pink. I need to start with pink…” 

— 

Paints of all shades cover Zayn’s hands and exposed arms when Liam calls his name an hour later. 

“Hmmm?” He replies loudly, eyes still fixed on the canvas that’s starting to take shape from the design skeleton he started with that morning. 

Zayn’s about to go back to his work after a few moments of silence, but he pays attention to his instincts and ditches his easel to check on Liam after not hearing a follow up to his pathetic response. 

Craning his head out the ajar front room door, he can see Liam standing at the end of the dining room table, examining his left palm. 

“You good?” Casually, Zayn walks over to where the man’s standing, confused when he doesn’t see anything wrong with the skin other than a few callouses rising above the surface. 

“Got another splinter,” Liam says with anger, though it’s clear that the distress is directed at himself and not Zayn. “Can I use your tweezers again?” 

There’s a sarcastic remark about wearing gloves on the tip of Zayn’s tongue, but he ignores it. He can’t be bothered with something that trivial when he’s been waiting for this moment ever since Liam had gotten his last splinter. He didn’t think it’d come this soon after though. 

“Can I?” 

The determination in Zayn’s voice makes Liam peer up at him and present the injured hand out for him to inspect, but not before using his right to point out where the thin fragment’s stuck. 

Zayn knows he’s being watched. Liam’s probably taking note of every time his chest rises and falls with each breath he takes - which, he’s trying to keep steady in order to focus and maintain the confidence that’s key to having this come off as sexy, not unbelievably awkward. 

Taking the other’s open hand in his, Zayn notes the area that needs attention right at the base of Liam’s thumb before bringing the skin up to his mouth. 

Thankfully Liam doesn’t pull away, otherwise Zayn would’ve been mortified. In fact, Liam doesn’t do much of anything in the way of reacting. Zayn’s got his eyes closed, so he can’t see if Liam’s pulling any faces at the line being crossed, but without hearing any verbal protests, he can only assume that the builder’s ok with this. 

Zayn’s tongue flicks out to locate the wood, pulling it back once he finds it and does his best not to nip Liam’s skin with his teeth when he tries to extract the sliver using the method the injured man had mentioned weeks prior. It only takes him three tries, licking his shoulder to deposit the wood on the t-shirt material there afterwards when he succeeds. 

Braving a glance up, Zayn sees Liam’s eyes have darkened into a stormy brown rather than their usual chestnut and have been waiting to meet his. It’s then that Zayn realizes Liam hasn’t taken his hand back, still letting Zayn hold onto it. 

Along with the intense stare that the younger man’s giving him, Zayn takes the hold as a sign that Liam wasn’t in any hurry to get back to work. A few more seconds of getting lost in the glint of danger in Liam’s eyes and Zayn’s following the overwhelming amount of lust that’s flooded his system. He brings the male’s left palm back up to his mouth, except this time, he envelopes Liam’s entire thumb into his mouth, wrapping his tongue around the skin after his lips. 

Now that he doesn’t have to focus on anything other than riling Liam up, Zayn can risk making eye contact with him and not worry that the effectiveness of his methods will be compromised. 

There’s no use in hiding his accelerated breathing now. Not with the intrigue that’s pooling in his stomach the more Liam looks like he’s attempting to work out what he wants to do with Zayn now that the artist’s previewing a lot more than just his art. 

It goes on like that for about ten seconds more before Zayn pulls off, finally dropping Liam’s hand. He’s about to ask if he did alright for his first time, if that was how he was supposed to use his mouth to remove the splinter, but he doesn’t have the chance. 

Liam wipes his hand onto his joggers as soon as its been made free and uses it to grab Zayn by his hip and close the small gap between them. Immediately he finds Zayn’s lips in a much hungrier manner than any of their past kisses have been in. Not that Zayn’s complaining; he’s more than on board with the headiness that’s building in the room. He hasn’t been in this position with someone else in eight and a half months. It’s hard not to count. 

With a man, however? God, at least two years. Getting back into the dating world, or hook up world even, was a lot easier to start out with when it revolved around men rather than women. He may have been willing to take his clothes off in front of someone new again, but doing so with a woman wasn’t the way to go about it for Zayn. He needed a solid year after starting fresh to get to that point. 

Despite being psychologically capable of sleeping with others after his wife’s passing, the tally of those he actually did something with was very low. Unless the edge was unbearable, Zayn stuck with his hand; therefore, he was more than aware that he might come across as clumsy and rushed now that there was a possibility that things were about to lead to the opposite of a solo session. 

Liam’s right hand copies his left, holding on to the other side of Zayn’s torso and steadying the painter when Zayn stumbles walking backwards to find something to lean up against, fingers digging into the skin that’s underneath the grey t-shirt the male’s wearing. 

Which wall Zayn’s back hits, there’s no way of telling, but he’s glad that it does; he’s finding it difficult to hold himself together the rougher Liam kisses him. He does his best to match the pace without letting the other in on just how desperate he was to have someone there to help him chase the feeling that’s starting to fog his senses. His hand that’s gripping Liam’s neck slides from the back, to the side, a stripe of blue following his movements from the paint on his skin that’s still wet from working a few minutes prior. 

A part of Zayn snaps when he feels tough hands snake their way under his shirt and discover what’s there. Liam doesn’t seem to mind the harsh bite to his lip that Zayn involuntarily reacts with, either not realizing that it wasn’t a conscious decision or because they’re on the same page as the other in terms of eagerness. Regardless of which was to blame, he pulls on Zayn’s shirt to get him to take it off in response. 

Sighing out loud when their lips are being pulled apart, Zayn holds himself back from forcing them back together, deducing that the quicker he can allow Liam to pull the top off, the sooner he can go back to giving all his mental energy to honing in on the unique sensation that textured fingertips brought instead of regular. But apparently Liam’s changed his mind. 

Rather than slip Zayn’s shirt off, he does his own. The muscles that stare back at Zayn for all of three seconds before they’re trapping him further against the wall, remind him how glad he is to have been born a person who’s groin reacted to their definition instead of just admired them from an athletic point of view. 

In line with his juvenile lack of control, Zayn’s hips push into Liam’s in an effort to become as overly consumed by the male’s body as possible. He can’t help the way his cravings eliminate all maturity, which is why he’s grateful for the forceful shove back that indicates he’s not alone in assuming where they’re headed. 

Finally, Liam follows through on his previous request, ridding Zayn of his shirt and attaching his mouth to the now exposed collarbone. There’s no room for Zayn to throw his head back, so instead he does the opposite and snaps his hips forward. The action produces a very growl-like moan from Liam that Zayn can _feel_ on his skin that’s covered by the man’s lips. It’s possessive in a way that makes his body flare up warmer than it already was. 

If it hadn’t been nearly a year that had gone by without being laid, Zayn would’ve taken the time to really sink his teeth into this foreplay - literally, and figuratively - but his body’s in desperation mode. 

“Liam…” 

The ‘can we go upstairs’ doesn’t ever leave Zayn’s lips. They can’t, not when the winds being knocked out of him from Liam leaning down to grab the undersides of Zayn’s thighs and forcing his legs to wrap around Liam’s waist. Zayn’s arms instinctually find their way around the man’s neck, holding on as he’s carried towards the exact location where he was steadfast on getting to. 

Liam’s strong, that’s nothing new, but he’s impressing Zayn even more when he doesn’t let the artist’s kisses along his short beard affect his ability to transport them up the stairs and to Zayn’s bedroom. 

“Which one?” The man breaths out when they reach the first floor. 

It’s an easy process of elimination with the two rooms left being ones that Liam has to know can’t be Amir’s, yet Zayn still uses his close proximity to Liam’s right ear to whisper “second”. 

The sound of the correct door being thrown open fills the empty house, alongside Zayn’s short whine of submissiveness when he’s dropped on the bed that’s centered on the opposite wall. He’s missed not having to be the one to take command, especially when it allows him a view like this from below. 

Confirming that they’re thinking the same thing from opposite perspectives, Liam bites his bottom lip as he soaks in Zayn’s half naked body. Once his eyes land on the green splatter of paint on the other’s left pectoral, he looks down at his right and sees the same. 

“Must’ve been from my shirt,” Zayn guesses, vision fixated on the blue that had passed onto Liam’s neck earlier, but was only just now visible thanks to their distance apart. “Got on you first and then transferred onto me.” 

“I liked it better when you were moaning, not talking.” 

It’s a comment that has Zayn lifting his hips up in order to push down his red track pants and get to the noises that Liam seemed to love hearing just as much as Zayn loved the movements that produced them. One of which wasn’t a movement at all, but an image. 

A tiny mewl comes from Zayn when he watches Liam copy his actions, except the man’s not just taking off his joggers, his underwear’s going down with them as well. 

If he were in the right of mind, Zayn would copy his actions and strip himself of his pants, but instead he feels his cock twitch inside of them at the perfectly sculpted man in front of him. The blue and green that’s been added to Liam’s skin speaking to Zayn and turning him on even more. 

Apparently Liam wants more from him than a short whine if the way he’s taken to stroke what Zayn’s been staring at is anything to go by. It wouldn’t have taken that much to get a sensual groan out of the younger man, so the highly erotic sight that Liam _has_ given Zayn definitely rewards him a loud one. 

But_ Zayn _wants to be the one to touch what Liam is. Taste it. _Feel_ it. This is bloody cruel and the other knows it. Which doesn’t frustrate Zayn like it should, it actually adds to his arousal. 

Once Liam makes the first movements to crawl on top of where Zayn’s shimmied up further onto the bed, the painter lays flat rather than continue to lean his weight on his forearms. It’s a lot more comfortable this way, but also a lot more dangerous since having Liam’s body above his doesn’t allow for any way of escape or ability to influence what’s going to happen next. 

Zayn’s more than ok with that though. He keens into Liam’s touch as the male grinds down onto Zayn’s clothed groin, smirking when the action causes Zayn to let out the sounds that he had requested be kept up. 

Embarrassingly, this was probably enough to make Zayn fall apart with his lack of recent experience, so he reaches out for the bedside drawer in an attempt to let Liam know he wants to get to the good stuff before that can happen. 

The universal signal does its job, Liam leaning over and rummaging through the various items to find the two he was looking for. In the meantime, Zayn takes it upon himself to get rid of his last layer, trying (and failing) to hide his look of delight at Liam’s thirsty stare once the other was back to sitting on his shins, staring down at Zayn. 

The smugness gets to Liam, lighting something within him, as made evident by the way he works with determination to get Zayn back under his control through taking them both in his right hand and pumping slowly. 

Much like the smooth dips of Liam’s grinding, Zayn’s not sure how much of this he’ll be able to take. Right about then he wishes he slept around more. If not for the instant gratification it brought, than for the endurance he would have been able to build up for his time with the man who plans on ruining him in less than five minutes. 

There’s expertise to Liam’s strokes, Zayn can tell from the way he’s able to switch between speeds dragging his rugged hand up and down. Slow twists turn into rapid tugs before returning back to Liam taking his time. Surprisingly the callouses on the man’s hands aren’t too rough on the sensitive skin, but rather an unexpected source of further stimulation that’s continuously making Zayn moan into Liam’s mouth. 

The strokes are dangerous. Liam doesn’t need to know that, but they are. So much so that Zayn needs to find a way out, or this isn’t going to end well. He’s sure that if anyone was going to, caring Liam would understand, but Zayn doesn’t want him to have to. This was meant to be good for the both of them and that wasn’t going to be the case if he finished with an unopened condom next to his rib cage. 

One particular stroke up makes Zayn take his hand that was holding on to Liam’s shoulder and use it to stop the other’s motions, guiding Liam’s hand to the bottle next to the wrapper. 

Things move quickly after that, much to Zayn’s liking. 

Initially he freezes up at the coldness and foreign feeling of Liam’s fingers, but he gets over it when Liam takes his eventual push backs as a sign he can open the latex package. Rather than just lay there and watch, Zayn leans up to snatch the condom out of the man’s hand. 

“Fuck,” Liam mutters when he receives another taste of how eager Zayn is to get a hold of him. 

The word comes out again when Zayn trails his fingers down Liam’s cock tantalizingly slow, taking advantage of the power he’s given himself and appreciating both the thick length underneath his touch and the way Liam clenches his jaw at being handled. It makes Zayn want to keep ghosting the pads of his fingers over Liam until the man comes like this, wants to see him shudder more than just the nearly invisible shivers that are currently running through his body, but the leaking his own cock’s doing on his stomach has him putting his priorities straight and rolling on the rubber hastily. 

Laying back down, Zayn pulls Liam along with him by the nape of the neck. Their lips meet halfway down, staying that way as the younger male uses his hand to guide himself to Zayn’s entrance. 

He’s been prepped, but that doesn’t help the sting that comes from not being in this position for years. The further that Liam pushes in, the more Zayn’s finding it difficult to hide how he’s feeling, eyes scrunched up in discomfort and lips barely kissing back when he’s fully taken the other. 

Liam must be able to sense the pain that his partner’s enduring, barely pulling away before rocking forward. He rests their foreheads together, their kiss practically broken already from Zayn’s lack of reciprocation. “Do you want me to-” 

“If you say stop,” Zayn says between gritted teeth, “I’ll kill you.” 

He’s not lying either. The only thing worse than Liam’s length stretching him out like this in ways that the men before him didn’t, would be for the pleasure to never come and make the pain worth it. No, he needed to endure this just a little while longer, then the ecstasy would outweigh the uncomfortable sensations. 

Instead of focusing on the strain his body’s taking, Zayn channels his sense of hearing and tunes in to how laboured Liam’s breathing is. There’s no other explanation for it other than he’s having trouble holding himself together for Zayn’s sake and not allowing his hips to snap forward instead of their current slow slides. 

“Tell me how much you want me.” 

Liam’s small “what?” is loud and clear thanks to their close proximity, but nevertheless, he still tries to pull his head back to get a look at the male underneath him. 

Zayn’s hand keeps its hold and resists the movement. “Tell me how much you want me,” he repeats, lips brushing against the other’s as he speaks deeply. 

Liam completes a particularly slow push forward before he replies. “I’ve wanted you since I first shook your hand.” 

If _this_ was the first confession to be admitted, Zayn’s speech tactic to help get him to relax was going to be a huge success. 

“Wanted to see where your tattoos led under your shirt. Wanted to kiss my way around them and get you to arch into me while I did it.” 

Liam’s words have Zayn doing exactly that, pulling him close for them to kiss while their bare chests meet from the curve. 

“Didn’t know you’d feel this good though,” he continues once Zayn makes it so that he can speak by separating their lips once more. “Or that you’d want me just as bad. Could barely wait to get me inside of you. Isn’t that right?” 

Not only does Zayn bite down on Liam’s awaiting bottom lip in response, moaning along with it, his cock stirs in between their two bodies as well. 

This is exactly what he needed - a little something extra to remind his body that the person who was a stranger to it should really be welcomed with open arms. 

“Bet you thought about this while you watched me every weekend, huh?” 

This time Zayn’s lifting his hips up to meet Liam halfway to admit that his assumption was correct, but that he could also pick up the pace; the filthy talk had done its job. 

“Oh, you like this then,” Liam thinks out loud, taking Zayn’s hint to stop holding himself back, but still keeping their faces close. “Should I tell you about how I thought the same? Waited until you weren’t looking to stare and wonder what you’d taste like.” He ruts his hips forward in an especially strong thrust, almost as if to prove his words true. “And I’m not talking about your mouth.” 

That’s all it takes for Zayn to completely lose it. 

Immediately he captures Liam’s lips with his own, losing his breath while doing so when the man administers another rough roll of his hips. A strangled moan comes from his throat and transfers into Liam’s. The sound only acts as the man’s motivation to keep up the intensity by breaking the kiss to push himself up with one arm, and reach down with the other to bring Zayn’s left leg up onto his shoulder. 

The switch in positions make it like the momentary interruption from pain never happened. At the same time, it also puts Zayn back to square one with his desperation that stemmed from eight months of pent up sexual frustration being satisfied. 

The angle doesn’t allow it, but Zayn really wishes he could transmit some of that passion to Liam through scratching down his back, or sides, or anywhere really. 

The sheets suffice, although just barely because the way Liam tilts his head back in bliss with raw emotion nearly has Zayn ruining the moment in order to drop his leg back down and lean up to kiss the expanse of Liam’s neck and then some. He doesn’t though, just watches in amazement at how gorgeous one human being could be. 

“Do you like it when you can watch me?” Liam asks with a smirk when he catches Zayn’s eyes, not making fun of the man’s vulnerability, but rather playing into it for him to enjoy more. 

A soft whine follows Zayn’s weak nod. 

“Good, I like it too.” 

Again, the artist lets his love be known when Liam breaks his rhythm after his statement and thrusts with significantly more force. They’ve just gotten started, Zayn knows that, but he can’t help but get a hand around himself to finish what Liam’s started. 

“No,” Liam barks, replacing Zayn’s hand with his own. “_I_ want to be responsible for making you come.” 

The words are so hot, that _they’re_ almost enough, forget the quick tugs that follow them. Those do help though, and Zayn can’t help but throw his head back against the pillow as he chases the spark that’s starting to grow. 

“Feels good?” 

Liam knows it feels fucking good, Zayn doesn’t need to answer him, but he’s lost in another world where he can’t dish out sarcastic remarks, so he just shuts his eyes and nods. They open wide for a second when Liam drops Zayn’s leg back down, but close once more when the reason why becomes evident as the male uses the position to continuously snap his hips with more strength and purpose. 

Liam’s back to draping his figure over Zayn’s, but his hand that’s now squeezing tight on each upward stroke, hasn’t left it’s grip on the older man. 

Between having two zones of stimulation, each just as good as the other, Zayn’s about to hit cloud nine. All it takes is Liam saying “let go” into his ear for him to reach it. 

Streaks of white paint his chest, while a short cry of pleasure escapes his lips. Zayn’s heartbeat is all he can hear and his eyes stay screwed shut in an effort to hold on to the high as long as possible. Even when he comes off from it, he’s not all that upset since it’s afforded him the chance to witness Liam’s slack jaw and audible accelerated breathing that ends in a long, satisfied moan. 

Zayn can see it in the way Liam’s arms are straining to keep him up that the man’s spent. He is too, though for a much more selfish reason than having done all of the work. Because of that being the reality, he reaches up and runs his right hand through the back of Liam’s hair soothingly. If he wasn’t so in harmony with the man’s body at the moment, he would’ve probably missed the way Liam leaned into the touch. 

They stay like that until Liam’s biceps can’t take anymore and force him to disconnect from Zayn, resting next to the painter on the bed straight after. 

“I’m really glad you’ve never gotten a sliver out with your mouth before,” he teases softly, head turning to face the other’s side profile. 

A small laugh rumbles through Zayn’s chest. “I have now.” His calmly shut eyes that were angled at the ceiling open and look to meet Liam’s. 

“Shower?” The man asks fondly. 

All Zayn really wants is a nap, but he never wants to let down that smile, so he agrees. “Shower.” 

— 

“You know, I can fix the shower head’s water pressure if you want. It’s rubbish.” 

Staring down at the styrofoam container of orange chicken in his lap, Zayn reaches over to trade with Liam’s broccoli beef. “I’ve managed with it like that for years. I don’t think it’s rubbish.” 

“That’s because you’ve gotten used to it,” Liam refutes, digging around the plate that’s been swapped with him for the third or fourth time with his fork. “I could replace the head or attach a pump to the water supply.” 

And just like that, Zayn’s lost. “Sounds like a lot more hassle than it’s worth,” he replies before filling his mouth with the sodium rich food. 

Regardless of what response he was going to receive, Liam seems to have already made up his mind, responding with a stubborn, “I’ll replace the head.” 

All Zayn can do is shake his head in fondness at the man’s insistence on upgrading Zayn’s entire house. It was a nice gesture, and Liam clearly loved putting his skills to use for the betterment of others, but Zayn was a simple guy, he didn’t need all the bells and whistles that came along with owning a home. Nevertheless, Liam making himself a continuous presence in the Malik household wasn’t something that Zayn was going to dispute, so he stays quiet on the suggestion that came from their time together washing off their midday rendezvous. 

As they sit on the floor of his studio not long after, adding a new cuisine to the list of delivery meals they’ve ordered, Zayn wonders if Liam will point anything out that needs updating in his sanctuary of sorts. 

Given his good mood after their shower, he had decided that Liam had been patient enough - among other positive things - that he deserved to finally be let in on the room of the house that he had been yearning to get a glimpse of. 

To Zayn’s surprise, the man didn’t shell out any compliments upon first glance, but rather voiced his shock at how ironic it was that the one room in the house that was dedicated to art, didn’t have a mural wrapped around its walls. He supposes it makes sense given what the man knows Zayn’s capable of doing to a white finish that that would be the first thing that stuck out to him instead of the framed Calvin and Hobbs tyre swing strip or the various setups tailored to specific types of art. 

The thought drifted away as soon as Liam asked for an explanation on why each station was needed, the builder excusing himself with a coy wink after getting one to go sand down the frames he had made while they waited for their food. Now that it was there, Liam was finally getting around to pointing out the part of the studio tour that he had left out before. 

“How many pieces do you think are sitting there?” He nods in the direction of the ground where there are countless finished canvases leaning against the wall. 

Tilting his head, Zayn tries to do the math. “Maybe fifty? Hard to tell with smaller ones hiding behind the larger.” 

Immediately Liam’s setting his tray on the floor and crawling towards the area in question. 

Zayn watches from where he’s sitting criss crossed on the carpet, smiling softly as he finishes chewing his last bite and hears Liam mumble “amazing” as he carefully moves paintings out of the way of each other to see what lay hidden from plain sight. Zayn’s not sure if he was meant to hear the word, so he pretends like he didn’t, continuing to eat while the other pokes around. 

“Were you ever planning on showing me this?” 

Zayn looks up from his phone when he hears Liam’s question a few minutes later, seeing his portrait of the man now standing tall in the front row of canvases rather than at the back. 

“Eventually,” Zayn answers honestly, placing his phone down on the carpet and noting how composed Liam seemed for having discovered something a lot of people would deem uncomfortable. It wasn’t as if he had stopped the other from looking through his work in fear of stumbling across the painting; he knew it was there. In fact, it wasn’t even all that hidden either. The canvas was huge - about a meter and a half tall by one wide. It was just that so many others were in front of it, that all you could make out was the top of Liam’s hair when it was in the back. But even that probably wouldn’t be recognizable unless you were used to Zayn’s technique since the strands weren’t just dark brown, streaks of yellow and green were mixed in there too. 

Liam’s turning his eyes away from Zayn’s to check out the portrait once more, gazing at the image that’s a still-framed memory of the night he got up to sing next to Niall at the open mic. His right hand gently grips the microphone that’s cradled in its stand, eyes drifting off to the side instead of straight at the voyeur. The outfit is the same as that night as well, except instead of the jumper being plain black, it’s got blocks of short brush strokes consisting of warm colours galore - red, orange, rust, maroon, anything indicative of the tender spirit that comes from that portion of the colour wheel. 

“Do you like it?” 

Quickly, Liam looks back at Zayn, who’s staring at him with an inquisitive expression and lip bite. “That night, when we all came back from dinner, what was the idea that you had?” 

Zayn’s brow furrows at how the male was able to match his words that evening with the correct painting. “How do you know it was for that?” 

“A certain stuffed desert animal might have mentioned a thing or two.” 

It’s impossible for Zayn to get angry at the little boy and his blabbermouth of a meerkat, they were both too innocent to punish. “The stripes of purple and yellow on your face.” Liam studies the painting once more to pick out the lines of colour that Zayn gave perspective to. “The sunset was hitting you just right. I couldn’t resist.” 

He may not have gotten a verbal answer to what Liam thought of the piece, but the smile that’s pushing the man’s cheeks up and subsequently bringing out the crinkles around his eyes tells Zayn more than any words could. 

“I have one more.” Getting up from the floor, the artist walks to where his sketchbook dedicated to full page works was stacked with other similarly bound journals. “I finished this before I started that.” 

Liam takes the open book, holding it like Zayn had - one flat palm under the back and the other under the cover so his hand’s oils wouldn’t smear the pencil only sketch. “How long did it take you?” The man’s voice mimics his awestruck appearance, “It’s incredible.” 

“Thanks.” Zayn rests his chin on Liam’s shoulder from behind, staring down at the realistic drawing that consisted of only half the man’s face against the right edge of the paper. “I started it when you were putting up the roof and finished a couple weeks later.” 

Warmth moves from the taller male’s back to the other’s chest as the former leans back into Zayn’s positioning. “That’s what you were working on when you were sitting outside?” Zayn nods lightly against Liam’s shirt. “I don’t know what to say.” 

“You don’t have to say anything.” 

“No, I do,” Liam insists with a passionate tone that makes Zayn think the male needs to prove it to himself just as much as he does to the one who created the art that he’s now setting down carefully on the room’s only desk. “You’re outstanding,” he says, fully turned around to look Zayn in the eyes. “I don’t know much about art, but I’m not blind. What you can do is unlike anything I’ve ever seen before, both with realism and how you can incorporate colour into a picture other than just traditionally painting what you see.” Liam shakes his head in disbelief, “I’m honored that you would choose me as a muse, but I-” He cuts himself off, clearly trying to gather his thoughts and make sure he was getting across what he truly felt. “You didn’t do this for money, or even tell me about it. It wasn’t even in the front of the pile.” 

“I’m proud of how it turned out,” Zayn interjects, not wanting Liam to get the wrong idea as to why it was sitting where it had been. 

“No, that’s not it.” Before he can stop himself, Liam just starts to speak his mind. “Anyone can see that you’re talented, but making these,” he points to the two pieces of himself, “and all of _these_,” then the rest of the images throughout the room, “for nothing other than yourself shows how much you deserve to be an artist.” 

No one’s ever told Zayn that he’s _deserved_ to be an artist. Deserved his success, yeah a couple times. Deserved the best in life, a lot more than that after Ava’s passing. But never that he deserved to be _a part_ of his profession. He may not have heard of it before, but that didn’t mean Zayn wasn’t touched by the opinion. 

“More times than not, I just have to paint to paint, otherwise it feels like my creativity’s being pent up,” he explains. “It’s as if that part of me just needs to create and do nothing else. I’ve learned that over time - that you should just **_be_** and whatever comes out of you doing that is more you than whatever would have showed itself if you planned it all out. I’m lucky I can do that a majority of the time and still make a living.” 

Liam nods pensively, though the smile that had crept onto his lips, stays. “You’ve just proven my point.” He scratches at his neck, peering down at the painting of himself. “I look pretty cool with colourful hair.” 

“Why do you think I made it that way?” Sadly their shower had washed away the blue along Liam’s neck. “I think it looks better on your skin, in person though.” 

The man’s eyes shine with mischief when he’s back looking at Zayn. “I’m not opposed to taking two showers in one day…” 

A million replies run through Zayn’s head, but he feels strongest about one in particular. “Take your shirt off.” Immediately Liam follows instructions and it takes everything in Zayn not to veer off path at the physique in front of him. “Lay down on the floor.” As the younger man does as he’s told, ideas start to run wild in the older’s head. 

When he’s got his arms full of paints and brushes that he’s gathered from around the room, Zayn kneels in front of Liam’s relaxed body. “I’m not sure how long I’ll go for, so just brace yourself.” 

“Am I allowed to speak while you work or do I have to stay quiet?” 

Zayn can make out that Liam’s practically holding his breath, which causes him to chuckle. “The model can do as he pleases.” 

Chuffed at his new nickname, Liam lets his head lull to the side with a grin, filling the room with talk of what he was dreading the most of working his first weekend at the store in over five years. There may be vibrations coming from Liam’s deep voice, but Zayn still starts at the exposed neck skin that’s just begging to be the place for him to begin his first winding line at. 

There’s no rhyme or reason to Zayn’s strokes. Some are thick, while some are mere traces of the bristle ends - something Liam finds extremely ticklish and only makes Zayn use them more so he can hear the man’s vivacious laugh. A few of them run in zig zag patterns and others more like a breeze of wind. He sticks to only painting on Liam’s chest and torso after starting at his neck, adding a few extra stripes to his face like in the painting once he’s done everywhere else. 

Standing on top of his desk chair to get a good aerial shot, Zayn takes a picture of the final product, putting his phone in his pocket and taking his own shirt off right as both of his feet are back on the ground. 

Liam’s eyes light up, “My turn?” 

Instead of replying, Zayn reaches out a hand to help pull the male up. Things go exactly to plan when the kinetic energy from Liam’s body being yanked up is too much and forces it to slam into Zayn’s, therefore transferring the paint and changing the work into something new. 

“Congratulations,” Zayn smiles widely, “you’ve just been a part of your first art performance.” 

Looking down at his body, Liam studies how the weight from Zayn’s body has manipulated the paint on his before moving on to take note of the other’s now colourful skin. “Crazy…” 

“Put your arms to your sides,” Zayn orders, snapping a picture of the new piece that was Liam’s body, handing off the mobile so his body could be documented as well. 

“If we wait until this dries, we can put our clothes back on and I can drive us to B&Q to get the new shower head. Then I can install it and test the pressure washing this off.” Liam clasps his hands behind his back to avoid ruining the drying process, though they come undone again when Zayn swipes his hand across the contractor’s stomach. “You have to take another picture now,” Liam whines, frowning at the manipulation that Zayn had made of the colour scheme. 

“Some performance pieces never end,” the artist educates, taking a photo to add to the collection that he’s hinted could keep growing. 

When Liam steps into Zayn’s space to kiss him, he knows that his camera roll’s going to be close to full by the time the paint comes even close to drying. 

🌳🌳🌳🌳🌳 

Over time, cooking without milk products has become second nature to Zayn. In the beginning he slipped up a lot - ordering food out and not realizing that they had to have used milk in the breading process for the cod of his fish and chips or fried chicken that he loved to douse in peri peri sauce. It was always with himself though; he’d never dream of messing up when it came to Amir’s diet. Transitioning the boy to solid foods was easy thanks to Zayn having gotten a concrete hold on eating dairy-free himself by that time. 

Support groups and recipes online written by others trying to navigate the tricky lactose free world made Zayn’s life a hell of a lot easier, especially when it came to mixing up the monotony that having a restrictive diet sometimes created. It’s how Zayn became quite the chef, preparing him and Amir tasty meals during the week, and scrolling through any new recipes that might have been posted online on the weekends. Experimentation might not be the easiest when the main palette you’re trying to please is your five year old, but inviting one of a twenty five year old who was still new to dairy substitutes to join in on a lasagna taste test probably wasn’t any better if Zayn was looking for a boost to his cooking ego. 

However, in typical Liam Payne fashion, the man wound up making Zayn feel confident in his cooking regardless, using his long day at work as an excuse to serve himself up a second helping of the Italian dish. 

Two weeks have passed since Liam had done as he said and improved the water pressure in the shower. It was the first of many menial tasks that Zayn had come up with for him to do around the house in order to ensure that they made use of the other three weekdays that coincided with Liam being off work and Amir being at school. 

After the cracked tile in the bottom corner of the driveway had been replaced and new ambient lighting installed in his studio (that took a lot more sawing in the ceiling than he would’ve liked), all Zayn could resort to was recipe trying as a means of coercing Liam to the house in a way that went along with their coy way of dating. They still went out on Saturday nights, once to a film and again to an art gallery that Zayn loved, but it was how they continued to play this game of needing Liam’s handyman skills that kept the artist coming up with dumb requests. 

Liam not batting an eye at any of them was one thing, but Amir erupting in joy any time the man was already at the house when he came home from school with Zayn was another. Not an ounce of interest towards Liam had been lost from the boy over the past two months, only grown. 

“So then, I jumped off the top of the tyre swing and almost landed on the sprinkler,” Amir shares, all wide eyed and smiles at letting Liam in on his latest adventure using the treehouse. 

Zayn makes a face at the dangerous maneuver. Note to self: move the sprinkler. 

“You better be careful,” Liam advises before taking a drink of his decaf coffee that Zayn had made him once their meal was cleaned off the table, its flower silhouette already ruined from sips before. “Is it the kind of sprinkler that’s attached to the hose?” Amir nods. “Maybe I’ll take a look into installing an in-ground system back there.” 

The boy’s letting out a short “sick” in response (to a remark that definitely went over his head), which is exactly what Zayn would’ve said if he one, knew what an in-ground system was and two, wasn’t busy wondering how long Liam’s latest contribution to their game would take. 

“You should do it when I’m not at school so I can watch,” Amir suggests, swinging his feet back and forth in his seat on the wooden bench. “You do all the cool stuff when I’m at school now.” 

As he’s cutting up the chocolate coconut cream pie that’s also needing to be reviewed for the first time, Zayn smirks down at the dessert, keeping his mouth shut at all the memories of the ‘cool stuff’ he and Liam have gotten up to. 

“I’ll see what I can do,” the man rebutts. “I have other jobs on the weekends, remember?” 

Balancing the three plates from the kitchen to the table isn’t easy, but Zayn somehow manages. Surprisingly it’s bringing the first bite to his mouth after he’s sat down next to Amir that makes his heart stops. 

“When you marry Baba, will you still have to work on the weekends?” 

Liam’s eyes meet Zayn’s, though they don’t come off as panicked as Zayn’s sure his do. They were both on the same page when it came to their budding relationship and Amir: never lie to him, but also don’t give him any details unless need be. It looks like that time’s come. 

“Why do you think we’re getting married?” Zayn asks, treading water lightly to see where his kid’s head is at before laying things out on the table for him. 

“He’s your boyfriend, isn’t he?” The boy shoves his mouth full of the pie, hardly chewing before he’s continuing on with his reasoning. “You hang out with him more than I hang out with my friends at school and you’re always extra sad when he leaves. You’re usually happy when Uncle Harry or Uncle Louis leaves.” 

Liam’s gaze that had switched to Amir was now back on Zayn, softened by the secret insight that the five year old’s revealed. 

“We’re not getting married.” Immediately Amir’s face drops at the news, picking up slightly when he hears the “but” follow it. “We do go out on dates.” Zayn looks over at Liam to make sure he’s not saying anything the other man isn’t comfortable with. 

A ruminative expression comes over Amir’s face as silence overtakes the room while he tries to piece together what he’s being told and why dates don’t equal marriage. 

“Is that ok with you?” Amir lifts up his head from where it was staring down at his pie to look at Liam when he asks his question. “If I date your Baba?” 

There’s no hesitation at all when the boy answers “yeah”, his facial features showing how thrilled he is at the concept, even though it was already apparent that Amir had taken a keen liking to Liam from the start. Hearing that he’d be sticking around more, and possibly at some sort of permanent capacity was a gift, not a concern. 

“Does that mean you’ll come to my football matches?” Amir adds, the look in his eye telling Zayn that he’s about to start unraveling the never ending possibilities that the arrangement could afford him. 

“If your Baba says it’s ok and you want me to, I will.” 

With the way Liam had asked Amir’s permission to go out with him like they _were_ getting married, the contractor shouldn’t worry about Zayn saying no. In fact, he leaves things there, not feeling the need to comment any further on the subject because of that. What really matters is how his baking skills have turned out. 

“So how do you like the pie?” He asks, finally taking a bite himself and concluding that it’s not half bad. Maybe a little longer on the crust, but still almost as good as the full dairy version. 

“Better than the straight chocolate that I tried at Easter,” Liam voices truthfully. “I could get used to this.” 

It’s something he’s said it after every new food he’s ever tried with the Malik’s, and yet as time passes, Zayn sees that he wasn’t just saying it, he really did teach his taste buds how to appreciate the alternative flavours. It showed during a trip up to visit Zayn’s family in the middle of Amir’s summer half term break a month later when Liam hardly blinked an eye at Zayn’s Mum’s chicken tikka masala with coconut milk rather than regular. A month after that, Zayn was exceptionally proud when they were grocery shopping for Amir’s birthday dinner and the man took it upon himself to ask the person at the front of the specialty market which type of almond milk would be best for an alfredo sauce if they didn’t want to use Zayn’s regular choice of rice milk. Even _after_ the meal, when all the guests had left and it was just Zayn, Liam, and Amir in the house, the younger adult couldn’t stop going on about how much he loved the pasta and how he really shouldn’t have another piece of chocolate cake if he wants to be any help when he travels tomorrow. 

“Where are you going?” Amir asks from the floor in front of the couch where he’s been going through all his new toys, confused that Liam would do something as big as travel - especially on a work day - without letting him know. 

When a sneaky smile spreads onto the male’s lips, Amir completely abandons his gifts and gives the two men on the sofa all his attention, starting to get upset that he wasn’t in on Liam’s plans. 

“I think you’ve waited long enough,” Liam tells Zayn, patting the seat in the middle of them as a sign for Amir to join the two on the sofa. 

Liam’s right. The little boy might have gotten a whole new room full of toys, but Zayn would put money on him not giving them a second glance as soon as he’s opened the card Zayn’s pulling out from behind him. “You’ve got two more gifts,” he wiggles the envelope to tease his son even further. 

Amir snatches the envelope and starts to rip it open. “Where’s the other one?” 

Both men laugh lightly at the boy not even knowing what the first was before asking about the second. “It’s right here,” Liam brings a bag around from his side of the couch, “but open that one first.” 

On the front cover of the card, Mickey Mouse stands with the rest of the classic Disney crew, balloons and presents surrounding them underneath a large banner that reads ‘Happy Birthday!’. Inside, Amir struggles to read the words, concentrating on sounding out the letters to help him pronounce the lines correctly. “Today you’re six, how fun! Hope you go out and enjoy the sun! Don’t forget to dance and smile! We’re sure your birthday will go down in style!” He then moves down to the hand written portion. “Happy Birthday Amir! I hope you got everything you wanted and more. Here’s one more present that I think you will enjoy. Never forget that I love you with all my heart, no matter how far away I am. I wish I could go with you on the trip, but no matter where you are on Earth, you will always be able to see me in the sky, so I will be there with you at night. Love you always, Mum.” Disregarding the mysterious ‘trip’ portion of the message, Amir looks up at his Dad with an emotional expression. “She didn’t forget…” 

“Beta,” Zayn hums, having to blink back tears of his own when he brings the boy to his chest by the back of his head. “Of course she didn’t forget.” 

He knew that it was a possibility Amir would think that way when there was no gift being presented from the women in front of his friends and family with the rest of the gifts, but Zayn felt it was important for his son to have a private moment when it came to opening this. 

“Go on,” he says, letting Amir pull away and get back to learning what she had gotten him. “Look in the envelope.” 

The boy pulls out three handmade ‘admission tickets’ to Disneyworld. Zayn had spent a good amount of time looking for fake tickets online to present him with, but in the end he just said fuck it and created his own. 

“She got me tickets to Disneyworld!?” 

The last time Zayn smiled this hard was when Amir had opened the card on Mother’s Day that let him know he was getting a treehouse. Then, the little boy had hopped around in excitement at receiving a gift he didn’t even know he wanted, but now. Now, he couldn’t sit still, literally wiggling around with a sudden burst of energy at being given a gift he had wanted for well over a year. 

“When are we going?” Amir turns to his Baba, pupils big in hopes of hearing as soon as possible. 

“First thing tomorrow morning,” Zayn replies, letting out a small “oomf” when the boy throws himself into his chest straight after the words leave his mouth, Amir’s arms squeezing as tight as they can around Zayn’s body. “You’ve still got one more from Liam,” he reminds the small child once he rubs his back lovingly in response to the embrace. 

Amir peels himself away, handing his Dad the envelope that was in his lap and taking the iridescent bag that Liam was handing him. Not wasting any time, Amir pulls out the useless tissue paper and pulls out three t-shirts. The two that are clearly replicas of Woody and Buzz Lightyear uniforms make the boy even more excited. The third that’s red and has Slinky Dog wrapped around the shirt has Amir showing Zayn. “Look, it’s your favourite!” 

“That one’s for him,” Liam says, the smile that started this whole thing still on his lips. “The Buzz one is for me, and Woody is for you.” 

It then occurs to Amir that the shirt sizes of two out of the three tops would swallow him whole, and that that could only mean one thing. “You’re coming with us?” He twists his head back and forth between Liam and his Dad, holding his breath until one of them confirms that his theory was correct. 

“She did get you three tickets.” Zayn spreads out the three pieces of cardstock to reinforce his answer, assuming that Amir had practically blacked out when he realized what the tickets had said and therefore didn’t have the chance to take into consideration how many passes were in his hands. 

“And we can all wear these when we get there?” 

Liam nods in reply to Amir’s question, wrapping his arms around the boy when it’s his turn to receive a bone crushing hug. 

“Thank you,” Amir mumbles into Liam’s chest. 

“You’re welcome.” 

Zayn’s eyes meet Liam’s and he too thanks the man via a silent mouthing of the words. For the shirts, for the Hot Wheels race track that Amir had opened earlier, for the treehouse, for having GumTree notifications on, for having a dream big enough that he needed side jobs to accumulate spare cash for it in the first place. 

Zayn knew what that was like - to have a dream that required a lot more effort than the average. Most people would probably look at him and say that him being a successful artist should be enough to have him feel accomplished. And yes, that was a dream of Zayn’s, but it wasn’t the most important. 

Being able to hoist his son up on his shoulders to watch the fireworks at Cinderella’s Castle, in another country that took getting on a plane for the first time to travel to, thousands of miles from his own castle in the backyard, was what Zayn cared about. 

He could be a painter or a barista or a panhandler for all he cared, but as long as his son had all the things that Zayn never did, it didn’t matter how much work he had to put in to make that happen. 

With Liam reaching out to lace his fingers with Zayn’s at the same time as Amir’s pointing out the stars beyond the fireworks that are exploding over head, the twenty six year old thinks that he’s had to go through a lot to get there, but it was worth it to make his ultimate dream come true. 

**Author's Note:**

> So? Did I do our AU justice?
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and I hoped you enjoyed this!
> 
> If you've read my other stories you know how important it is for me to include a solid message/theme in each. This one's a lot more subtle and straight forward than the last two. It's a love story, yes, but it's also a story about a man whose dreams for his child have materialized through a treehouse. It represents a lot more than just a place for his son to play in, whether Zayn realizes that or not. It's not about overcoming grief, he's far past that, it's about how someone can avoid taking the normal path of university and still manage to award themselves a feeling of fulfillment.
> 
> Also if you've read my other stories, you'll see how some hints to the next fic are sprinkled in the one before (minus Pokemon. I'm clearly incapable of leaving out at least one reference). Harry Potter touched on Zayn's skateboarding as a youth, the olympic fic ended with Zayn finishing the item on his bucket list that he mentioned in his first cryo chamber experience that revolved around his kids, and there's definitely something in this one that gives away Zayn's profession in the next...
> 
> Click [ here](https://ziamhaze.tumblr.com/patreon) for my usual Behind the Scenes page for things like:
> 
> -A video of the treehouse I used in the story  
-Links to the art I used as Zayn's mentioned throughout (including Liam's painting and sketch)  
-Pictures of Zayn as a kid to let you see what Amir would've looked like  
-Pictures of the heart wrenching Pokemon Cubone, whose story is unfortunately 1000% real (anyone catch how Amir only brings out Marowak at night bc of their Mothers' connections to the night sky? They lean on eachother to make it through the night; in Amir's mind it's not just a one sided friendship - Marowak needs him too)  
Check out my [ tumblr](https://ziamhaze.tumblr.com/patreon) !
> 
> Feel free to spread the love through picspam [ here ](https://ziamhaze.tumblr.com/post/187423489356/ziam-ficrec-the-prince-king-by-ziamhaze-or-a) too.
> 
> Thank you all so much!


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